Batman & Robin: Inceptive
by MissScorp
Summary: The Scarecrow escaped during the Joker's tyrannical takeover of Arkham Asylum. Now he's free to not only reign terror down upon all of Gotham, but to pursue a woman who has become the recipient of his affections. Just one person stands between him and his Mistress of Fear though: Batman. T for mild swearing, comic book violence and mildly suggestive themes.
1. Freedom

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for my original storyline and its overall theme.

**A/N:** This story follows the sequence of events that I began in my other story: **The Infatuation of Dr. Crane (**found here:  s/9680179/1/The-Infatuation-of-Dr-Jonathan-Crane**). **This opening reflects an Easter Egg found at the end of the video game _Batman: Arkham Asylum _(One of three in fact).

* * *

_'You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.'_

**~Eleanor Roosevelt**

* * *

_Gotham Harbor, just after midnight..._

A hand broke the surface of the churning waters and latched onto a floating steel drum, its syringe tips a demonic sunburst against the velvet darkness. A foamy wave rolled over him, pushing him farther away from the island enveloped in the anachronistic grip of the clowns brand of festiveness. All that mattered, though, was that he was free...

...and soon was going to teach Gotham a whole new meaning of _Fear._..


	2. Discord

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but for the original storyline and overall theme of this story, which also includes the behavioral modifying agent I've called _Inceptive_.

**A/N:** This again follows the sequence of events that I began in my other story: **The Infatuation of Dr. Crane (**found here: s/9680179/1/The-Infatuation-of-Dr-Jonathan-Crane**). **The flashback sequence is the only reference made to the video game _Batman: Arkham Asylum_.

* * *

_Trust the night_.

That's what Master Wen first told him after he'd traveled high into the mountains of Tibet in order to train at the legendary sensei's knee. It was the first lesson he needed to learn before he could move on to becoming the warrior he desired to be, the wizened grand master told him. How Wen had known-indeed, how he'd even come to suspect just what it was that he planned on doing with all the training he'd collected over the numerous years he'd spent abroad, he still did not know. But somehow, Wen had.

He'd learned much while training with that old swords master.

_Trust the night_.

The phrase flickered into his mind as he plunged into the shadows of the dark tunnel that led into the subterranean caverns burrowing beneath Wayne Manor. It was a constant reminder that told him that no matter what, the night always knew best. The night had never steered him wrong in fact. The night had, in fact, predicted everything that was going to occur. It was the night who whispered to him about the events that were about to unfold at Arkham Asylum. And it was the night who'd helped him to prevent those events from being even more fatalistic than they were. There was only one event that the night had not revealed to him prior to its occurrence: Jonathan Crane's infatuation with Dr. Raya Kean.

It was an attraction that he fully intended to prevent from blossoming beyond its current stage by whatever means necessary. Not only was the young doctor very important to him on a personal level, but keeping her out of Crane's hands was vital on a professional level. Bruce fully believed that Crane's sudden interest in Raya stemmed less from any type of romantic feelings that the doctor might have towards her, and more from a desire to get his hands upon Dr. Matthew Berkeley Sr.'s notes about the behavioral modifying agent that the doctor had code named _Inceptive_ right before his untimely death. Bruce did not know what the behavioral modifying agent was designed to do. But he could guess from Crane's desire to get his hands upon the ultra secret formula that it was nothing good.

_But how Crane even knows about _Inceptive_ is what I want to know_.

The only one who had that particular answer was currently back at the cave. The tunnel began to widen and grow lighter a few seconds later. He flew out the chute into the Batcave and allowed the Batwing to hover while a pair of slate cubes rose to form a landing pad. He touched down on the cubes. The canopy opened and _Batman_ emerged. And was instantly immersed in the vocal chaos and heated discord that was coming from the grotto directly above him.

"And you're nothing but a stupid, ill-mannered, stubborn and jealous son of a bitch!"

Bruce's eyebrows forked. _What's going on here_? he wondered.

"Aw, stop flirtin' with me, Kit," there was a nasty nip in that gruff voice. "I'm in no mood for it."

"You've been _in_ a mood ever since we left the Asylum!" was snapped back in a voice that reminded Bruce of spiced cider. "And I really don't understand what about!"

"You know exactly what about Raya!"

"No," she gritted. "I _really_ don't, Jason."

"Well, gee," sarcasm just rolled off his second oldest son's tongue. "Lemme see if I can explain it to ya then."

"Oh, ya mean ya can get over your jealous snit long enough too?"

Bruce smothered a chuckle. Well, at least he knew that his imp was up and about following her earlier run-in with Crane at the Asylum. And apparently she was in fine fighting form. Which meant that she'd suffered no adverse side effects from the gas that Crane had sprayed in her face. Something that his son, Jason, was clearly not taking into consideration. _Brash as ever_, he thought with a shake of his head. He'd never managed to instill in Jason the same ideals or principles that he had in Dick and Tim. He'd never managed to teach him the art of patience. _And I never curbed the tidal wave of rage that flows inside him_, he thought sadly. It was one of the hundreds of sins that he carried around inside him.

"You were the one who was standing there while that psychotic nut bag put the moves on you!"

"I was gassed, you horse's ass!"

Deciding he should probably go and intervene before things got any uglier than they were, Bruce began walking across the platform towards the stairs that led up to the main platform. He shed his cape and cowl, officially balancing between the vigilante and the billionaire as he went.

"I'd stay down here if I was you," a droll voice said on his left. "Might be safer at the moment."

Bruce glanced over to see that his oldest son, Dick Grayson, was sitting on one of the weight benches in jeans and a black t-shirt. "How long have they been at it?"

"I'm not really sure," Dick replied with a slight shrug. "They were going at it when I got here."

"When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes before you."

Bruce arched an eyebrow at the cheerful note that was in the younger man's voice. "Are you finding them fighting amusing?"

"Uh huh."

"And why, may I ask, are you finding it to be so humorous?"

"Because Jason is finally getting a dose of his own verbal medicine." Dick grinned cheekily. "And also because I'm not the one on the receiving end of her rapier wit for a change. But it's more because Jason is finally getting a taste of the vitriolic verbiage he's been dishing at us for the last few years."

Bruce shook his head. Only his oldest son would find humor in a situation like this.

"Do you know _what_ they are fighting about exactly?" he asked him.

"Crane from what it sounds like. Which," the younger superhero said as he pushed to his feet. "I gotta admit that Jason has a right to be in a bit of a snit. I'd sure as hell would be if Crane was putting moves upon my girl."

That Jason had been highly upset about what had happened just a few hours ago in Atkham Asylum's Secure Transit area was an understatement. _He_ wasn't exactly thrilled about it either. And with good reason...

* * *

_During the events of the Joker's hostile takeover of Arkham Asylum..._

Bruce slammed a fist into the face of the remaining guard and turned in time to see Crane lifting up Raya's gloved hand.

"It has indeed been a pleasure," the doctor said in a low, intimate purr that had warning bells going off inside Bruce's head. But he forced down his first inclination to charge in and snatch the petite girl out of the doctor's grasp. But it didn't stop the fear, nothing ever stopped a father's fear. Jason dropped down onto the platform beside him, simmering with repressed rage and anxiety. Bruce's only thought as he glanced at his son was, _please be patient_.

Slowly, deliberately, Crane brushed her knuckles with his lips. The consummate gentleman. Jason spit a vitriolic curse and took a small step forward, clearly desiring to tear the man taking liberties with his girlfriend apart. But Bruce feared that such a maneuver upon his sons part would result in Raya being given a higher dose of that yellowy substance in the vials that replaced fingers upon Crane's one hand. He grabbed his arm, felt the tightly corded muscles beneath his grip vibrate.

"Jason," he pleaded in a soft, but urgent voice. "Think! If you rush in like you want then you could jeopardize her life."

"That's the only thing keepin' me from killing that sick freak right now."

With a final, taunting smile at them, Crane nimbly leapt into the elevator and punched the down button. His shrill, chilling laugh echoed in the chamber long after he disappeared. Jason rushed forward, grabbing Raya in a hard embrace while demanding, "are you alright?"

"Ye...yes," she stammered. "I'm fine."

Wide-eyed, pale and far from fine was Bruce's thought. He ran a hand over the cap of her hair. Those fathomless eyes lifted to his. "Go," she said. "You cannot let Crane escape."

"Raya..."

"Bruce, go!" There was a vague note of hysteria in her voice. "If Crane gets free he will reign terror down upon Gotham!"

Bruce glanced at Jason, saw the tidal wave of dark and turbulent emotions in those cerulean eyes. "I'll handle Crane," he said softly. "You take care of Raya."

He thought his son was going to object, to protest. Instead he merely swung Raya up into his arms and gritted; "Make sure ya get a few shots in for me when ya catch up with the bastard."

Then he turned and began to make his way from Secure Transit. Bruce watched for a brief second before he turned to give chase to the grand manipulator of fear...

* * *

"It was only a concentrated dose of the freak's toxin." Jason's snarly tone pulled Bruce back to the present. "Not enough to have glued your boots so firmly ta the concrete!"

"Oh, because you say so?"

"Because I know so!"

With a sigh, Bruce walked up the steel ramp into the main grotto of the cave. He passed the medical bay, crime lab and ascended another set of short steps to find Raya was seated at the main computer station. A large, high-definition flat screen monitor dominated the wall behind her. Seven linked Cray supercomputers hummed quietly, providing enough data storage and computing power to make even the most high tech geek weep with envy. Raya's eyes were fixed upon the man leaning negligently against the railing in front of her and so she did not see Bruce's approach.

"Look, you..."

"Children," he interjected lightly. "Can we stop arguing?"

"Certainly," Jason said smoothly. "Right after Raya tells you about why she's been lying through her teeth to you for the last ten months."

"Jas," came the sweet reply. The far _too_ sweet reply, Bruce realized. "You can go..."

Bruce clapped a hand over her mouth before she could get out what exactly his son could go do. That his imp's language had gotten quite a bit _saltier_ since she'd started dating Jason was an understatement. And the more angry she got, the worse her language got. And right now her temper was burning brighter than a Roman candle. _Time to separate the two_, he decided.

"Go wait for me in the medical bay," he told her.

"Aw, I see daddy is here ta spare ya from having ta explain yourself," Jason said nastily. "Wonder where ole Dickie bird is? Considerin' how tied at the hip the two of ya are, I'm surprised he ain't here ta play the goddamn hero."

Raya snarled and would have gone after him, but Bruce merely nudged her towards the ramp with a firm;

"Go."

Raya gave Jason a dirty look, and a not-so-subtle finger gesture that had Bruce sighing before she turned to flounce off in the direction of the medical bay. Bruce turned to look at his son. He saw the light of battle in that electric gaze. And he knew that the younger man was itching for a fight. That he was spoiling for a fight in fact. But this time he was not going to oblige his more volatile son with a quick and nasty round of who could hit the hardest.

"You are not handling things very well with Ray..."

"Spare me the lectures." Jason's lips curled into a sneer. "And stuff the relationship advice. Not wantin' ta hear either."

Bruce sighed. He'd forgotten just how difficult reasoning with his second oldest son could be. "You are trying to place blame upon Raya for what happened at the Asylum. She's not to blame."

Jason scoffed. "You think that she's so innocent? You think that she's _not_ to blame for some of what went on tonight at the Asylum with Crane?" He sneered the words. "Think again."

"You are reacting out of fear, anger and jealousy," Bruce said softly. "And not thinking clearly beca..."

"You think this is all because that scumbag tried to fringe in on my territory?" Jason snorted a humorless laugh. "Ya couldn't be more wrong, Bruce."

"Then what is this about?"

"It's about her lying to us for months." Jason saw the flicker of disbelief and released a stream of vitriolic curses. "I see ya don't believe me. How typical. Well," he said. " Why don't you ask her about if Crane called her out to the Asylum earlier tonight? Oh, and while you're at it," he raised his voice so that the woman in the medical bay could easily hear him. "Make sure to ask her about how many _other_ times that the son of a bitch has called her out to Arkham in the last _ten _months. Sure she only told you one or two. Which is complete and utter bullshit."

Bruce's eyebrows lifted at that. He'd known about Crane making repeated requests for having Raya assigned as his doctor. Requests she'd denied. But he had not known about her going out to Arkham to personally see Crane. That night, or any other for that matter. He filed the information away for use later.

"And then," Jason said, unfolding his arms and stepping towards Bruce. "Ask her about how it is that Crane even knows about her grandfather's behavioral modifying agent. I'm sure you'll find her answer as hilarious as I did."

"_Inceptive_," came the quiet reply. Bruce turned and saw Raya standing in the archway between the main computer area and the medical bay. Dick was standing right behind her, his hands resting lightly upon her shoulders. Her eyes, he saw, burned with primordial fire. "The behavioral modifying agent is called _Inceptive_. And Crane wants to get his hands on it because he wants to use the agent's neural properties to deliver a whole new strain of fear toxin to Gotham. And we cannot let him get his hands upon it. The people that he would hurt..." she trailed off, looking helpless and remorseless.

"How does Crane even know about the agent?" Bruce asked. He told himself that he would scold her later for not revealing this imperative data sooner. For now though...

"Yea, Kit," Jason said. "Tell dear ole Dad just who it was that told that psychotic freak about _Inceptive_."

Bruce saw more than heard her sigh. And saw how Dick's hands squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. Which as good as told him that his oldest son already knew about this. _Not a surprise_, he thought silently. _They've always told each other everything_. But then his imp ripped the floor right out from under him when she said;

"I'm the one who told Crane about _Inceptive_."


	3. Why?

Dr. Jonathan Crane once had been a tenured professor at Gotham University. A young doctor once touted by the psychiatric community as a leading expert upon the psychological phenomena known as fear, his brilliant career was cut short following the regents' decision to terminate his fellowship following a live classroom demonstration that resulted in the _accidental_ wounding of one of his students. Following his fellowship's termination, he took a position at Arkham Asylum, treating patients with phobic disorders and continuing his research into the psychological phenomena of fear.

His arrival became Arkham's salvation.

But his descent into what the warden called "his own psychosis," combined with his _supposed_ illicit and unethical experiments upon Arkham patients and staff earned him his own private cell in the hospital where he'd once enjoyed practicing psychiatric medicine. Becoming an asylum inmate did not, by any means, bring a halt to his experiments. He'd continued to study the cognitive and psychological responses to fear long after his incarceration.

His imprisonment became his emancipation.

No longer did he worry about maintaining a mask of civility. Nor was he preoccupied with pretending that he was merely a mild-mannered and innocuous doctor. Once his proclivity for inspiring fear in his chosen victims became public knowledge, he dispensed with propriety, and donned the vestments that most appropriately suited him.

His enlightenment became Gotham's nightmare.

Soon after his incarceration he made the decision to take his experiments out into the streets of Gotham, needing a larger subset of specimens in which to test his theories upon. Oh, the endless amounts of information that he had been able to collect! He'd tabulated page after glorious page of data, submitted dozens of research articles based upon his findings to the best psychiatric magazines in the country. Even being branded for the criminal he'd become, and mocked for being a monster for casually disregarding the APA's standards about consent in ethical practice, he was still flouted as the world's leading expert in the Psychology of Fear.

His exploits became legendary.

Batman's continued interference caused many of his greatest experiments to meet with abject failure. The Dark Knight continually interfered, ruining his experiments, skewing his data and freeing his research participants before then returning him to the asylum. His last great experiment had met with such a fate. His escape had compelled the warden to create even more stringent security measures. Until that night he had been forced to limit his experiments to the grounds of Arkham Island. But when the Joker "liberated" the inmates of Arkham during that evening's hostile takeover of the Asylum grounds, he had also granted emancipation to the Scarecrow. Of course, the clown's intent had been for the inmates to keep Batman busy while he'd finalized the details of his little anachronistic plot. However, Crane knew the Joker's plan was destined to meet with failure. How could the plan not fail given the clown's compulsive behavior when it came to the Batman?

In that same vein, Crane thought while he awaited the arrival of Dr. Albus Nichols, Batman had, himself, been so distracted by everything going on that he'd failed to properly investigate the Croc's attack upon him in the sewers snaking beneath the asylum grounds. Batman's obsessive fanaticism with the Joker and his blind devotion to one of his protégés had allowed _him_ to float away from the asylum. Oh, it had taken nearly all the toxin left in his syringe tipped dactyls to gain his freedom from the saber toothed reptile man, but the expense was one Crane felt was well and truly worth it.

_He was free.  
_  
Free to see his dream of bringing a whole new meaning of fear to the people of Gotham come to fruition.

Free to take his vengeance upon the man who routinely prevented him from accomplishing his goals.

_Free_ to finally pursue the truly admirable Dr. Kean and make her his own.

Of those three things it was the very last one which most mattered to him at that time. He admitted he had become well and truly enamored of the young doctor after he chance spotted her standing at the end of the corridor sixteen months ago. He'd known from the way that his cold heart had begun hammering in his chest that Dr. Kean was special. No other woman had ever inflamed his senses quite like she did. No other woman had ever captivated him quite like she did. He would not postulate what he was feeling as love because he knew himself to be incapable of feeling such a useless human emotion. What he did know though was that he felt... _something_. And that something was a heady, intoxicating feeling for one who'd spent years feeling absolutely _nothing_.

He'd started to pay court to the young doctor, sending her flowers (only Crane lilies were appropriate), boxes of fine chocolate (only Swiss chocolates were considered sufficient), and small trinkets (only the finest crystals and gems were considered worthy). When those items failed to bring the woman to him, he'd appealed then to her intellect. Patience and persistence, Crane thought, his fingers tapping lightly against his thigh, had served him well. Dr. Kean had started to visit him at the asylum ten months ago. At first her visits had been out of professional courtesy, thanking him for his help in profiling a particularly challenging predator or in sharing an article he thought she'd find amusing. Then it turned into two colleagues talking together, sharing their knowledge of their particular subfields, and recent psychiatric advancements they found either intriguing or annoying. Then they became two people engaging in normative patterns of interpersonal communication.

It had been perfect. Brilliant even! He'd managed to neatly slide past the doctor's initial defenses, wormed his way into her good graces and made her believe that he was perfectly harmless. Well, that he was not dangerous to her at least. Convincing her to become his doctor, his Mistress of Fear should have been easy. But he had not counted upon her willpower being nearly as strong as the Dark Knight's. Nor had he anticipated the wall that she'd put up anytime her grandfather's formula for his behavioral modifying agent was mentioned.

Footsteps coming towards him drew Crane out of his deep reverie. He turned and watched as a balding man, dressed in dirty brown trousers and a powder blue button down shirt with cracked horn-rimmed spectacles crossed the room. It was clear Dr. Albus Nichols had not escaped the clown's takeover of the asylum unscathed. There were scratches upon his face, some deep and still oozing liquid drops and some crusted over with dark vermillion scabs. Nevertheless he had come when he'd been called. This meant that his control over the doctor was still intact. Crane hid a smile. Discovering Nichols' proclivity for sexual contact with corpses had been a godsend. It was exactly the sort of character flaw that Crane could manipulate in order to obtain, and maintain the doctor's compliancy. And he would continue to exploit these flaws until such time as Nichols was of no further use to him.

"Did you obtain the item that I requested?" he asked in a soft, slithery voice.

"I got Dr. Kean's datebook from her office, yes."

There was a glimmer of delight as well as a hint of that underlying aberration in those lucent eyes.

"Excellent," the doctor purred while holding out one long, graceful hand. "And were you able to procure me an invitation to the Halloween Ball that my intended shall be attending next week?"

Nichols nodded. "Yes."

"And did you discover what costume my beloved shall be wearing to this little masquerade of hers?"

"I was told that Dr. Kean will be attending the Ball as Lehkesis."

"Ah. One of the Sisters of Fate." Crane smiled, looking almost boyish with his seeming delight over the doctor's choice in costume. "She is the second oldest sister, the one who is known as the determiner of the destinies of both Gods and mortals alike. And the one who is considered to be the most benevolent of the three fates." He nodded his head. "Yes, that costume most suits one with the heart of my beloved."

Nichols found himself studying the man before him. Though nowhere as pale as the Joker, Crane's skin was still the color of fresh cream. It made his thick shock of dark hair and equally dark brows stand out in stark contrast. He was a slender, unassuming looking gentleman with a cultured voice and limpid blue eyes that sparked with intelligence behind wire-rimmed glasses. To Albus Nichols, he resembled a geeky college professor more than he did a homicidal psychopath with an obsessive fanaticism with the emotion fear. He'd always found himself taken aback by the extreme differences in Crane's two personalities. When the Scarecrow was not in control, Dr. Jonathan Crane was a quiet, studious kind of man who was unfailingly polite, uncharacteristically pleasant, and unquestionably a gentleman. When he donned his trademark burlap gas mask and Freddy Krueger-like glove with the syringe tipped fingers he became something that went far beyond dangerous. In fact, Albus Nichols presumed how the only man who was truly more deadly than Jonathan Crane was the Joker himself.

"Exactly _why_ are you attending the Wayne Foundation's annual Halloween Ball in the first place?" he queried finally.

"Oh," Crane simpered. "I am only attending the Ball because I plan upon making my suit known to the doctor while we partake in a turn around the ballroom floor."

"Is it not dangerous for you to be seen at such a public event?"

"Who shall know I am there? My face will be hidden beneath a mask like everybody else's will be."

"Who says that Dr. Kean won't sound the alarm?"

"Oh, I am assured that my intended will not give my identity away."

There was a dark and wet undercurrent to his voice that said that the monster lurking below the doctor's conscious was but waiting to make another appearance. That moist hiss not only warned the beleaguered man about his own precarious situation with Crane, but specified just how the demented fiend planned to convince the girl to keep her silence. He just couldn't stand it, he just could not stand there and allow somebody with such a kind and giving heart to become little more than the Scarecrow's version of Harley Quinn.

"I am not comfortable with what you have planned for Dr. Kean." Nichols said with a slight frown. "She deserves to be more than just the puppet of a madman."

"Why, my good doctor." Crane smiled pleasantly. "I have no desire to turn the delightful Miss Kean into my puppet."

"You intend to turn her into your slave." There was stark disapproval in Nichols' voice; upon his face. "You intend to use her in order to get your hands upon her grandfather's formula for _Inceptive_. You intend to use _her_ and _Inceptive_ to bring Gotham to its knees."

"No." He tucked the small black book into a pocket of his nondescript tweed jacket, began gliding across the floor towards Nichols. "I intend to make the lovely doctor my Mistress. I intend to work with her to synthesize a new, more terrifying version of _Inceptive. _AndI can assure you that it is not all of Gotham that I intend to bring to its knees with my new behavioral modifying agent."

"My God," Nichols released a horrified breath as he finally realized just what it was that Crane was truly planning. "You are planning on using Dr. Kean and _Inceptive_ to bring Batman to his knees..."

Crane's soft, sinister laugh was the only answer that he needed.

* * *

"_You_ told him?" Bruce wasn't often taken by surprise. Hearing how it was Raya herself who'd told Crane about _Inceptive_ had completely rocked him to the core of his being. The strength of his surprise was intense, overwhelming. His shock annoyed him almost as much as her admission of guilt did.

"Why would you do that, Raya?" he demanded in a low growl. "Why would you tell someone like Crane about a powerful agent like _Inceptive_?"

"Why would she put a powerful neurological agent in the hands of a man nicknamed the _Scarecrow_?" Jason sneered. "Maybe it's 'cause she's just as enamored with that toxin wielding freak as Harley Quinn is with her pasty-faced _puddin_."

It was quite a discovery to realize that there were times where a slap was indeed more preferable to words. Raya felt Dick stiffen against her and reached up to lay a hand over his. Jason saw her take Dick's hand and felt his resentment burn even more out of control. _Not a shock_, he thought resentfully. Her feelings for his fair haired older brother were as clear as day to him.

"I see ya aren't bothering to deny it, Kit. What?" he sneered. "Have you finally managed to see that you've fallen victim to the same manipulative ploys that Quinn did?"

"Jason, that's enough."

It was not exactly a growl. However, there was just enough steel in Bruce's voice for Jason to know that the old man was reaching the edge of his patience. Oh, and that was fine, that was good in fact. He wanted to get into a quick, nasty brawl right then. The part of him still capable of logical thought told him how a rational man would take this as his cue to walk away, to go and get his head straight and come back when he could logically and rationally explain what he was feeling.

There was nobody in the world who could accuse Jason Todd of being a rational minded man. Most especially when it came to the dark haired woman standing across from him with her hand in his brother's. Vapid emotions were pumping like a fast-acting hallucinogenic drug throughout his system. He was edgy, his every nerve ending scrapped raw. He could feel… too much, and was waiting for his system to simply implode. The green eyed monster, who was breathing fiery words into his ear, intimating that not all was as copacetic as she was assuring him it was, certainly wasn't helping him to curb either his jealousy, or his razor sharp tongue.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Bruce," he said silkily. "I keep forgetting Raya is your _other_ golden child."

"Jason, stop this. _Now_."

Jason tried to read Raya's thoughts but found the language both foreign and frustrating. He studied her face, tried to gauge her emotions but nothing showed on her face but a bone deep weariness. Slippery tendrils of guilt poked away at the vestiges of malevolent envy hammering at him. He smacked those remorseful feelings back with a cold vengeance and allowed his lips to quirk up into a taunting smile.

"Or else what?"

The pleading look she gave him flayed him to the bone; Jason merely lifted a brow, deliberately challenging, silently baiting her to do something-anything. He was satisfied when those eyes became hard as green glass and she said in a cool voice;

"You won't like what the consequences are if you keep walking this path, Jason."

"Oh?" he taunted. "And what exactly are ya gonna do? Huh, Kit?"

"_She_ won't do anything." Dick said in a soft, ominous voice. "But I will if you don't lay off her."

"Oh, and here's her Knight in shining white fucking armor now..."

"If I'm her Knight in white armor," Dick gritted. "It's because the man who is supposed to be filling that role has his head crammed so far up his backside that he can't see the truth staring at him two ways from yesterday."

"Admit it, Grayson. Ya'd love ta see me outta the picture. That way ya could finally make her yours."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Is it?" There was a nasty, bitter edge to Jason's voice. He heard it, even as they did. Nonetheless he did not apologize for it. "How many nights a week do ya spend sleepin' with her in your arms, Dickie bird? And how many of those nights you two are together are your clothes on?"

"Stop this, _please_."

Dick could hear the strained edge in Raya's voice, knew well that his brother was bouncing upon an extremely sensitive area with her. Jealousy was only one of the nasty personality flaws that her father possessed in overabundance. Jason's jealous tirade was doing nothing more than sparking blood-soaked memories and a wealth of deeply seeded childhood traumas. It was something the elder hero knew could spell certain death to their relationship if his brother didn't dial the corrosive emotion back.

"Aw," Jason sneered. "Am I hittin' a nerve here, Raya? Am I? _Good_."

"I won't tolerate any more of this, Jason." Raya said quietly. Too quietly in Dick's opinion. "I told you when we began dating that because of my past history and what my father put me through that I could not handle a man with jealous intendancies. It's a deal breaker for me."

"Calling it quits are ya ..._Rae_?"

She flinched at his use of Dick's pet name for her. From Dick it was a term of endearment. From Jason it sounded like an insult. It was also the final straw to break this Fenix's back.

"If what I have to look forward too is more of you unreasonably accusing me of being involved with your brother, with Crane or any male that I might spend more than five minutes alone with?" She looked at him, nodded. "Then yes, Jason, I am calling it quits."

"Fine with me." And with that Jason stormed out of the cave. Raya felt the start of a grand headache.

"Rae…"

"Don't even bother saying what it is that you are thinking, bird boy." She said firmly. "This wasn't your fault."

Dick sighed as he slid his arms around her waist, drew her back against him. "He'll come around."

Raya resisted for a moment but finally gave up, gave in, and rested her head back against his chest with a small sigh. "Maybe," came her somber reply. "But I won't be there waiting for him to come around this time, Dick. I forgave Jason much, gave him understanding and sympathy for a lot… but not this. I can't handle his jealous tantrums. I refuse to."

Bruce had been watching Raya's face the whole time. She was trying to remain steady. However, there were things beneath that calm veneer. Strong, dark emotions he knew and understood far too well. She was scared and hurting, and more than she wanted or would admit at that moment. He moved towards her, swept a finger gently over the curve of her cheek.

"Jason tends to overreact when he is worried or upset. And right now he's both. Which," he said gently. "He has reason to be both. You've been keeping secrets from him. Secrets are akin to lies, as you well know. Which begs me to ask," he cupped her chin, tilted it so he could look into that deep, dark gaze. "Why have you kept your visits with Crane a secret?"


	4. An old Foe returns

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow button. Also, reviews are deeply appreciated!

* * *

"Why have you been keeping your visits with Crane a secret?" Bruce asked her again.

"Bruce..." Dick began saying but Bruce cut his eldest son off before he could launch into what he assumed would be a splendid justification speech.

"Dick," he grumbled the warning without looking at him. "Stay out of it."

Raya felt Dick's body go as taut as the chord in their grapnel guns with Bruce's reprimand. She angled her head, meaning to reassure him with a smile, but her breath froze in her chest at the expression upon his face. There it was, she thought, her heart snagging on a beat. There was _that_ look on his face, the one that always turned her into mush. It was the one where his self-confidence and macho bravado dropped away and the boy who was restless with his hunger and need to protect the people that he loved shined through.

"Hey." She turned in his arms and stood on her tip toes to rub her cheek against his. For a moment she was a ten-year old girl again, and comforting her melancholy and moody best friend. "It's okay. We knew we were gonna have to tell him about me visiting Crane at some point."

So much about them has changed in seventeen years, Bruce thought. And yet, there was so much that had remained the same. There was something in the way that Dick always warmed whenever he was around Raya, the simple affection that glittered upon his face, in the depths of his eyes. It was love he saw there, not the kind that sprang from passion, but which was deep and true. It was the same thing he saw upon Raya's face. Bruce knew well that stronger than valor and vengeance and thicker than pride, was loyalty and love. And both of his children had a good deal more of each at twenty-seven than they'd had when they were ten.

"Raya..." Bruce's voice was like silk, a deep and dark purr that skittered along the senses and hinted at emotions that were being kept tightly in check. "Stop hedging and start explaining why you _and_ Dick have been keeping your visits with Crane a secret."

"We haven't been keeping the visits a secret. Well, not really," she said, not looking at Bruce. "What we were trying to do was figure out exactly what it is Crane wants before we said anything to anybody."

"How many months has this been going on?"

"Ten," Raya began but Dick quickly cut in and said;

"Sixteen."

"_Sixteen_?" Bruce gritted.

Raya gave Dick a look that said she was going to flay his hide when she got him alone. He corrected his slipup by saying, "Crane made his first request for Raya to become his doctor a little over a year ago. But she didn't begin to visit him until the middle of January." To Raya, he asked, "That better?"

"Not like it's going to make him any less displeased with us," she muttered. "But yes."

"Is Dick the only one who knew of your trips out to Arkham?"

"No," Raya admitted with a sigh. "Uncle Jim also knows I have been out to see Crane."

Bruce wasn't surprised about Dick knowing of her traveling out to Arkham in order to visit Crane. Raya and Dick tended to be thick as thieves. That was why he encompassed his eldest son in the same burning stare he leveled at Raya. He was rewarded when he saw twin expressions of shame upon their faces. Knowing though that Jim Gordon had been aware she'd been going out to Arkham to see a man as dangerous as Jonathan Crane did take him aback.

"Jim didn't put a stop to these visits?"

Raya and Dick both heard the unspoken _and he didn't tell me so I could put a stop to it_? stamped below his verbally uttered question.

"Ah," she said. "He _did_ forbid me from seeing Crane actually."

By the slight wrinkling of her nose Bruce could tell how she had not found Jim's order to be to her taste. "Then why did you continue doing so?"

This time it was Dick who answered. "Crane's continued interest in Raya began to make all three of us suspicious."

"Suspicious?" Bruce asked slowly. "Exactly what was Crane doing that he made all three of you so wary?"

"Well, we assumed at first that his interest in Raya was simply because he was looking for a way in which to escape Arkham," was his reply. "And we know Crane has a thing about converting new doctors into his hapless puppets. Then when he began sending Raya flowers and chocolates and other types of unusual tokens that conveyed his affection for her, we knew there was something more to Crane's attention."

Bruce's eyes lifted to meet Dick's. And spoke his displeasure clearly. Dick met his gaze without flinching, speaking volumes in return.

"You should have told me about Crane's having taken an interest in her," Bruce said sternly. "You should not have kept this between the two of you."

"I am just as capable as you of protecting her."

Raya could hear the razor sharp edge in Dick's voice, and knew it as the rise of a reckless and dangerous mood. Bruce recognized his son's tone as well. Knew that _I'm as capable as you_ really meant _you still don't see me as equal to you_. Cerulean eyes clashed with sapphire. Raya could see a war was brewing between father and son. She shifted in Dick's arms and slid a hand to his face, drew his gaze to hers.

"You're pissed at Jason and looking for a fight in order to release some of those pent up testosterone fueled emotions rumbling around inside you," she said gently. "But taking your anger out on Bruce is not going to make you feel better."

"Ask me that _after_ I get in a couple of good punches."

Raya rolled her eyes; harrumphed. "And I'm the one who will have to patch the both of you up once the fight is over. So let it go." Her voice dropped to a low, pleading whisper. "_Please, _Dick."

He studied her face. Most of her adrenaline had ebbed, and he saw exhaustion intermixed with sadness breaking through to haunt her face. _Shit, she's been gassed by Crane, virtually molested by the sicko, got slapped in the face by a series of bad memories dredged up by the guy she's been dating for the last eight months and had him push her into breaking up with him all because he couldn't let go of his jealousy_. Slippery tendrils of guilt poked away at the vestiges of anger still hammering at him. Unlike his brother, though, Dick did not keep hammering away at her. Oh no. He simply pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered in her ear;

"I'm sorry, Rae."

"Don't be," she whispered back. "We've all had a very long, very emotionally draining night."

They were a close knit duo, Bruce thought as he watched them. The body language, the looks, the way in which unspoken thoughts were understood just screamed at him about how tightly integrated Dick and Raya were as a pair. Seventeen years and hundreds of dark and terrible times had forged a bond nothing and nobody could break. He stood there for a moment watching them as bats rustled overhead. Then he turned to head into the med bay.

"When you two manage to get yourselves settled," he said over his shoulder. "One of you can bring herself into the medical bay and explain just how it is that Crane knows about _Inceptive_."

Raya and Dick traded mildly amused looks.

"Dog with a bone," Dick said with a slight smile.

"He deserves to know everything, Dick. I mean, we _technically_ have not been telling him the whole truth for the last sixteen months."

Dick rolled his eyes and grumbled, "God forbid that _he_ gets a taste of how it feels when someone neglects to tell _him_ something until they feel it imperative for _him_ to know."

"Dick…" Raya began but Dick placed his fingers over her lips to silence her. He didn't want to argue with her about Bruce's propensity for keeping things close to the vest. Not at that moment at least.

"Let's just go and answer his questions, okay?"

When she nodded they turned and joined Bruce in the small grotto. Raya immediately headed to the sink and began filling a pan with warm soapy water so she could clean away some of the grime and blood in order to better assess what injuries he'd sustained.

"Bruce," she said without turning. "I'll help with getting your top off. I don't wanna wrench that arm or reopen those puncture wounds."

Just because he'd decided to concede to his body's need for medical attention did not mean he was going to give in easily. Bruce stripped off his top, gritting his teeth as the movement shot white hot pain across his chest and throughout his injured arm. He knew his act of defiance was nothing but a case of sheer stubbornness fueled by testosterone driven ego. Balling the ruined top up, he dropped it on the floor and sat on the edge of the medical bed. Raya turned, stared at him, a wet rag dripping a puddle upon the steel floor. Unsure if she was amused or annoyed by his obduracy, she simply frowned at him.

"You should have expected that he wasn't going to be completely _cooperative_ about this," Dick said dryly.

"I think I'm being completely cooperative about this."

"Oh, really?" Sarcasm dripped like acid as Raya indicated his arm. "Then what part of _I'll help with getting your top off to ensure that we don't injure your arm further_ did you not hear me say?"

"The cuts are not bleeding, imp."

"Check again," Dick suggested.

Bruce looked down and saw that the five puncture wounds from where Crane delivered his last lethal dose of toxin were oozing thin trickles of crimson. Swearing foully beneath his breath, Bruce took hold of the dry cloth she'd laid over her shoulder and pressed it against his arm. He'd have sawed his tongue in half before admitting that his arm was throbbing like a bad tooth. He looked up at her, saw her lips were thinned into a clear line of disapproval.

"The wounds are not bleeding all _that_ much," he said testily.

"But they are bleeding because you reopened the wounds." Dick helpfully pointed out. "Which was kinda why she wanted to help you with taking your top off."

He shot a blistering stare; more a glare honestly, at his son for his unnecessary statement. "You do not need to state the obvious, Dick."

"Hey, whenever Raya offers to take off _my_ shirt?" Dick grinned cheekily. "I more than happily let her."

Raya, as well as Bruce knew that Dick's teasing comment was simply his way of relieving some of the night's tension. Normally, she'd toss some type of quip back at him. But Raya was really in no mood to trade bantering innuendos with Dick. If she was being honest, really honest with herself, then she'd admit that what she really wanted to do was burrow into his arms and forget that this night had ever happened. But she couldn't do that. There were still things to do before she could retire to the quiet sanctuary of her apartment. For the moment she ignored him and took the cloth from Bruce. She began to gently wipe away the blood with the soapy cloth. When he merely took the rag back from her, she sighed and said,

"I swear you're worse than your boys when it comes to injuries."

"Rae," Dick said on a long, drawn out sigh that screamed of deviltry once again being afoot. "I am always agreeable ta when ya wanna use those delicate little hands on my body."

"Really don't need any of your cutesy little innuendos at this time, feather brain."

"That was _not_ one of my cutesy little innuendos." He huffed. "It was more of a... _invitation_."

Raya rolled her eyes and chose to again ignore him. To Bruce she said, "This arm is going to need bandaging. The puncture wounds are deep and could become easily infected if they are left open."

Bruce bit back a sigh. There'd been plenty of other cuts, gun shot and puncture wounds over the years, many of the scars from which were visible. What was one more? He'd chosen this life. Chose to use the night, to become the night, and accepted the risks and the costs of his choices. Injuries were a small price to pay in the service of the greater good. But his injuries did present him with an opportunity to do what his son was failing at: tease his imp out of her doldrums.

"So are you going to tear me a bandage from one of your slips, imp?" he asked lightly.

"Was that… humor?" her lips twitched. "Now, I know that besides cuts, bruises and five puncture holes in your arm you've also got a concussion."

"Hell must be freezing over," Dick teased.

"You'll be on triple patrols for the next month if you don't knock it off." Dick saw that the ends of his long lips softened. Bruce angled his head to watch while Raya spread a generous antibiotic ointment over his pierced flesh. "Raya?"

"Yes?" She looked up. "What is it?"

"Why did you tell Crane about _Inceptive_? It just seems," his shoulders moved restlessly. "So out of character for you to tell a man as dangerous as him about an agent like this."

She wiped her hands on a rag and reached for a gauze pad. "Bruce, I was _thirteen_ when I told Crane about _Inceptive_." She stared into his eyes. "I didn't know he was a psychopath then, nor that he was likely to take the neurological properties of my grandfather's formula and use them in his demented zeal to see Gotham quake with fear."

Bruce's eyebrows shot up when her implication became clear. "Crane worked in your grandfather's laboratory?"

She nodded. "He was one of Dr. Vonguard's research partners."

"Was he a fruit loop back then?" Dick asked.

Raya shook her head with a slight smile. "No. He was… normal really."

"Normal?" Dick scoffed. "I find that hard to believe, Rae."

"Jonathan was kinda shy, unfailingly polite and extremely respectful, but perfectly normal, Dick."

"He either masked his madness well, or it had not completely taken him over then."

"That's possible."

"So," Bruce said in a slow, thoughtful voice. "Crane saw you at some point when you were at the asylum and managed to remember that you were Raya Berkeley."

"Yes."

"It was then no leap for him to remember that it was your grandfather who was synthesizing a behavioral agent he was calling _Inceptive_ right before his death."

Raya nodded. "That's pretty much what Dick and I have concluded, yes."

"Then how do you explain what happened at the asylum tonight? It is not just _Inceptive_ that Crane is after, Raya."

"He's infatuated with Raya," Dick sighed. "Which, I have been telling the daft woman about for the last few months. But she refused to believe me until she saw it for herself."

"Hey," Raya said lightly. "I can't help that you and Crane share an appreciation for my mind..."

"Anyway," Dick said on a long breath. "Since Bruce is here and can babysit you," he only grinned when she tossed a dirty rag at him. "I'm going to go up and give Damian the good news."

"What good news?" Raya asked with a note of suspicion in her voice; on her face.

"Why, don't ya know?" he said in a sing song voice that grated upon her nerves. You'll be staying here at the Manor for the next few weeks or so."

Raya's eyes narrowed. "Who says I am going to be staying here at the Manor for the next few weeks?"

"I do."

Even as Bruce spoke, the piercing edge of her gaze cut to him, raked over his face. Temper streaked through her, hot and keen, and was ruthlessly rejected. A part of her resented that he was deciding something like her living arrangements for her. But the rational part of her knew it was only because he was worried about her safety. But goddamn it, she'd had her fill that night of high handed and demanding men.

"Bruce," she said in as soft and reasonable a voice as she could manage. "I have an apartment. A really wonderful apartment that is a few blocks-"

"Until Crane is found and locked back in his cell at Arkham," he interjected softly. "You'll be staying at the Manor, Raya."

_Where I can keep an eye on you_, he added silently.

"And with that," Dick said. "I'm off to let Damian know that he's going to be helping keep you outta trouble."

The outright pleasure that was in Dick's voice about telling the youngest Wayne member about her living at the Manor for a few days had Raya's hackles rise. _Why is he so happy that I am going to be here_? she wondered as she turned to look at her best friend. It was almost as if... realization dawned. Her eyes narrowed to thin slits as she growled, "Richard John Grayson, where exactly do you think that _you_ are going to be staying for the next few weeks?"

* * *

The hand that reached for the phone was plump and very tan. At the wrist, white cuffs were studded with square diamonds. The nails were buffed to a dull sheen and neatly clipped. The receiver of the phone was white, pristine, and cool. Fingers curled around it, five perfectly manicured fingers, the pinky adorned with a sapphire the size of a dove's egg.

"Berkeley."

The voice was dark and arrogant. Hearing it, the man on the other end of the phone felt his temper flaring. The former Gotham power broker might think that he was the boss, but the man on the other end of the phone knew that all Matthew Berkeley Jr. really was, was the banker that was financing their little operation. There was only one man that he truly answered too, and that man was _himself_.

The only reason he had forged an allegiance with a man like Matthew Berkeley was because he wanted to bring down Batman almost as much as this man wanted to bring down Bruce Wayne. And Berkeley had access to the funds and resources that he needed in order to obtain his vengeance upon the man responsible for his penniless and pathetic state. But there was going to be a day where he would no longer find this man useful. _And then Mr. Berkeley_, he thought with a brilliant smile wreathing his face. _Your time will have run out_.

"Your daughter ran into Crane... as you predicted." The voice that spoke was raspy, hardly more than a whisper. It was an unfortunate byproduct of his numerous facial procedures. It would, he knew, become more like the warm, velvety smooth tones Wayne used once he'd completely healed. "He administered a dose of his..." he paused to draw a breath. "Fear toxin as you requested."

Dead silence. Matthew Berkeley Jr. knew it was a more useful strategy than a hundred threats. He let the silence echo for five seconds, ten.

"And yet," he took a puff from his cigar, held the smoke in for a few seconds, and then released it slowly. "You did not deliver my daughter to me as I ordered you too. Why is that doctor?"

"She was carried from the asylum by the Red Hood," was his reply. The doctor drew in another deep, rasping breath. "I had no choice but to stand down."

"So, my daughter is again in the protective custody of one of Batman's associates," Berkeley muttered.

"Yes."

"It would seem, doctor, that my daughter has a guardian working overtime to protect her. No matter, she won't remain in his custody for long. I have a few calls to make, a few…. _favors_ to call in. Do make sure to locate my daughter and bring her to me soon. I've paid you a lot of money after all. You wouldn't want me to start thinking that I made a bad… investment, now would you?"

The doctor simmered at that sly and slippery tone. "Of course not, Mr. Berkeley," he said in a soft, dangerous tone. It was a tone which Matthew Berkeley found to be absolutely amusing. "Where do you suggest that I begin looking for her?"

There was a laugh, soft and cold. The sound grated on the doctor's nerves. "Find Dick Grayson." Berkeley's mouth bowed up into a brilliant and stunning smile. "And you'll find my daughter. I can absolutely guarantee it."


	5. Masquerades

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

_Bruce is gonna be upset with me for defying him and attending tonight's ball_, was the internal reflection that was running through Raya's mind as she climbed into the black stretch limousine waiting for her outside the GCPD. No matter what her justification was for going against his edict and showing up at the Wayne Foundation's Annual Halloween Masque, she knew Bruce was still going to be annoyed with her. He had good reason to be _if_ she wanted to be completely honest with herself.

She knew the possibility of Crane attempting to approach her at the masque was high. But she'd told herself that she had to attend, that Damian was counting on her to come to the event dressed as Padmé Amidala in order to balance out his coming dressed as Anakin Skywalker. Unlike his older brother (who had promised to dress as the pre-Darth Vader version of Anakin), whom had decided to not fulfill his brotherly obligation because of their break-up over a month ago, _she_ refused to let her baby birdie down. _Crane and Jason both can go to hell_, she thought savagely as she stared out the limo's window. _I refuse to let either man spoil this night for Damian_.

During the long months of Bruce's wandering through Darkseid's _Omega Sanction_, there had been a number of changes made in the framework of their unique little family. Holidays became mandated as affairs that would be celebrated as a family, Gotham's super villains be damned. Halloween had quickly become the favorite holiday of the youngest Wayne family member. The idea of _Robin_ dressing up in a costume had simply struck a whimsical little note in the then nine-year-old Damian. It became a Halloween tradition that they'd all (including Tim, much to Damian's disdain and displeasure) dress up in costumes which were decided upon by drawing the theme out of a hat. Their theme this year was _Star Wars_ thanks to that hat.

That was why she was wearing an elaborately smocked robe in shot midnight velvet over a white silk chiffon gown. Just why her little birdie decided she was to wear _this_ particular costume, she did not know. _At least it's better than the gold bikini Dick suggested I wear, _she thought. The limo took a position amongst a long line of other vehicles that were bearing costumed guests waiting to be dropped in front of the Gotham Museum of Natural History. Spotlights splashed across the museum's dramatic gothic revival facade as limos dropped off men and women in a sea of ghoulish, but stylish attire.

Throngs of paparazzi lined the red carpet, snapping shots for the society columns and websites. Flashes went off in rapid succession, practically blinding the people as they alighted from their vehicles. Raya found herself wishing that she could have arrived at the fundraiser when Bruce and Damian had in order to have had a buffer against the ensuing photographic onslaught. But there'd been no other choice. She'd been needed to watch while her uncle's detectives interrogated the unpredictable Victor Zsasz.

If Bruce were here, he'd say that this was what she "deserved for not returning home after work" as he'd ordered her too. _Well, if Jason had not chosen to punish me by reneging on his promise to Damian, I might not have chosen to defy you, _was her silent response_. _Gritting her teeth in preparation for the voracious attention she was about to be subjected too, Raya stepped from the limousine and joined the other guests that were strolling along the red mile.

"Well, would you lookee here!" One paparazzo chortled on her left. "We gots us one of those rich society snobs that don't want her purty little face plastered all over the society pages in the morning."

"Hey sweetheart, we're gonna figure out who you are beneath that mask!" another paparazzo shouted at her. "May as well make it easy on yerself and give us the shots that we want!"

He pushed through the throng of people in order to get a close-up of her face. More photographers turned to Raya, who quietly pressed a button on the gold cuff that circled one slender wrist. All at once, every one of their cameras went dead. Upset paparazzi cursed their malfunctioning equipment. Raya repressed a smile and made a note to thank Mr. Fox for installing that particularly useful gizmo for her. Climbing the stone steps, she approached the front entrance.

"Kean," she said to the woman standing at the door. "Mr. Wayne arranged for me to be added to the guest list."

"Of course, Miss Kean," the greeter said warmly. "Right through here."

Raya entered to find the masquerade already fully underway. Black bulbs glowed eerily from where they had been strung along the balustrade and across the ceiling. Thin cotton webbing had been strung across the ceiling and along the upper galley. Dozens of thick tallow candles had been set out in antique candle stands, their flickering wicks casting spooky shadows upon the walls and elongating darkened corners. The A-list members of Gotham high society mingled throughout the gallery, their brightly colored masks almost as extravagant as the jewels and costumes they were wearing. The main exhibit room, located to the right of the entrance, had been converted into a dance floor. A live band was performing on a stage in front of an exhibit on fossil remains that had been discovered in Gotham a few years ago.

Thirsty guests congregated at the open bar set up in the smaller exhibit room. Champagne flowed like water and ice clinked almost musically against crystal glasses. Waiters circled with tempting fare spread out on gleaming silver trays. Nodding politely to anybody that tried to engage her in conversation and neatly eluding any man foolish enough to attempt to snatch a hold of her, Raya weaved her way through the crowd with ease, searching for the familiar features of the eccentric billionaire. She knew he was likely the only male in attendance that would not have conceded to the masquerade theme and worn either a mask or a costume. _Too bad he couldn't have worn the cowl_, she thought with a small degree of amusement. She would have had no problem finding him then.

Where was the blasted man lurking?

Taking the stairs up to the mezzanine she stood at the railing and scanned the dance floor below. A sea of masked male partygoers in tuxedos would have made the task of finding one particular male a challenge. She, however, was looking for the _one_ male who was going to stick out like a sore thumb. She finally spotted him out on the dance floor, sharing a slow dance with a lovely blonde in a very little, very _tight_ black dress.

The woman sported a lacy mask with a colorful plume of feathers and sparkling beads. She was of no particular importance to Raya, however. The only person that mattered was the man the woman was currently coiling herself around. Raya felt a momentary irritation at the woman's clingy behavior; recognized it as her protective instinct rearing its ugly little head. _Welp, time ta go and untangle the man from his vine_, she thought with a sigh. She stepped away from the railing and began moving to intercept the mysterious and rackish Wayne patriarch before he could disappear on her. Before she could reach the stairs a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

"Didn't Bruce forbid you from attending this affair?"

Raya spun to find Dick leaning nonchalantly against the railing opposite the one she'd been standing at. Secretively, she'd been hoping that he'd show up. Outwardly, she was more than a trifle surprised at his appearance. That he was there, and in costume at that, suggested some trickery was afoot. The coarse brown cloak and sand colored tunic and loose fitting pants he wore acceded to Damian's chosen theme. That he'd been hand-selected to play Obi-Wan Kenobi told her a certain twelve-year old was the mastermind behind his costume.

"I thought you were stuck going to the JLA meeting while Bruce remained here in Gotham?" she asked.

"I _was_ supposed to attend the JLA meeting." He confirmed with a nod. "Then I got a phone call this morning warning me about how you were planning on attending this fundraiser even though Bruce outright forbid you from it."

She made a face. "Damian?" she guessed.

"Uh-huh."

"I shoulda guessed he'd call you once it became obvious Jason was not going to be attending the gala tonight."

_As he'd promised his little brother he'd do_. Raya knew Jason was taking his anger at her out upon Damian. He had, in his own typically pugnacious fashion, rebounded from the affront by calling his big brother home. It still bothered her thought that his second-oldest brother was drawing him into a fight in which the boy did not belong. She hid her bitter contempt by moving back to the railing and peering down at the couples whirling on the makeshift dance floor. She shoulda known she wouldn't get away with hiding her anger, or her hurt, though. Not from Dick Grayson who could read every thought and emotion that flickered across her alabaster face. His hands settled upon her shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Give Jason some time," he suggested gently. "He'll..."

"No," she said without looking at him. Then she sighed. "Dick, he is hurting Damian because of his anger with me. I will not tolerate that any more than I will his jealous possessiveness."

His sigh stirred the curls that were pinned loosely on top of her head. "I'm surprised he agreed to attend this fundraiser in the first place, Rae."

"Damian _asked_ him to attend all the way back when we babysat him in August," she said with just a hint of bitterness in her voice. "And Jason agreed because he could see just how damned important it was to Dami to have him attend."

"That was before Crane made it obvious that his intentions are about you as much as they are about _Inceptive_."

"I know it's my fault for why Jason isn't here," she said on a sigh. "I decided to defy Bruce and attend this masque because I felt horrible about this threatening to spoil Damian's favorite holiday."

He ran a hand over the cap of her hair. "Damian woulda been thrilled if ya offered to stay up watching scary movies and scarfing down junk food with him."

"Dick," she said, angling her head to look at him. "Our baby bird looks forward to Halloween more than he does Christmas. This is his favorite holiday. Besides that, he put a lot of thought into our costumes."

"And if I may say so," Dick said, with cheer, "Damian picked an absolutely fabulous costume for you to wear."

"That's because you're thinking about the room in which a nightgown and robe are typically worn, buzzard brain."

"Rae," he drew her back against his body and wrapped his arms about her waist. It was a simple and warm gesture, full of affection. "That you're saying what I am thinking means you're thinking about it, too."

"Not in the same way that you're _hoping_ I am thinking about it," she said dryly.

"C'mon, admit it," he teased. "You're thinking about you, me and that great big..."

"I'm thinking," she quickly interjected before he could finish that statement. "You desperately need to go and take a dip in Gotham Harbor. Your lightsaber is about to melt with how heated you're getting."

"Is that a Freudian metaphor there, Rae?" He asked wryly.

She grinned at him; said, "Sometimes a lightsaber is just a lightsaber, Dick."

"You do realize that since I am your Jedi protector that you're supposed to fall madly in love with me, right?"

Her lips curved with affection. "You have always been my Knight in shining armor, Dick. And I've always loved you."

"You mean Knight in green pixie boots and ridiculously short green shorts, right?"

"I loved those pixie boots and ridiculously short green shorts that you used to wear."

Interest peaked, he looked down at her; asked, "oh, yea?"

"Oh, yes," she said while nodding her head. "In fact, I had a number of _very_ erotic dreams about you in those ridiculously short green shorts."**  
**  
"Oh, really?" Intrigued now, Dick angled his head to look at her. "Care to share a few of those erotic dreams with me?"

She laughed softly. "Absolutely not."

"Aw." He pouted. "Why not?"

"Because you've already got more than enough dark and twisted fantasies running through that dirty little mind of yours."

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Care to imagine what I was thinking about when I suggested you wear that gold bikini?"

"Oh, I can imagine what you were thinking when you suggested I wear that gold bikini." But he'd surprised a laugh out of her at last. That had been the point of his flirtatious banter. And just like it always did, it worked. Feeling more relaxed than she had all that month; she leaned up and kissed him on the mouth. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked with a smile.

"For just being you."

He tugged on one dark curl and playfully said, "And all I'm getting for being an amazingly supportive friend and all around great guy is a paltry peck on the lips?" He sighed dramatically. "C'mon now, Rae. You can so totally do better than some Granny kiss."

"Don't think so, bird boy." She gave him an impish smile. "Besies, imagining that kiss gives ya something to think about when you're sleeping alone later."

He snorted. "Oh, well, now we both know that _that's_ bullshit."

"Is not."

"Is so." He grinned down into her upturned face. "We both know that you can't sleep unless I'm there to chase the monsters away."

She rolled her eyes with a harrumph; said, "How about taking me for a turn on the dance floor, wise-ass?"

He smiled; tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. "It would be my pleasure, m'lady."

They walked down the stairs and joined the other couples taking a turn on the dance floor. As he circled her waist and led her into a slow turn around the floor Raya found herself thinking back to her first Christmas Eve at Wayne Manor, to the wonder and the magic of the night, to the simple joy and contentment she'd felt as she'd danced in his arms for the very first time. Even after all these years she still felt the same way now she'd felt then. She was cognizant enough to realize she might have missed out on this were it not for the blatant manipulation of Damian. She made a silent promise to bake her little birdie peanut butter cookies every weekend as payment for his subtle interference.

They became so caught up in being together that they were oblivious to the man slithering his way through the whirling couples towards them, limpid eyes glimmering as they took in the darkly exotic woman dancing with her equally striking partner. His thin lips curled into a slow smile. She thought she'd outsmarted him by conveniently leaving her datebook where Nichols could find it. She'd thought she'd outmaneuvered him by picking a costume other than the one he'd been told. He knew his beloved much better than that, had suspected she'd try a bit of chicanery in order to impress him. It was, he knew, her way of making their courtship an even more interesting affair than it was already.

"Excuse me?" he asked in a slippery purr that brought the couple immediately to a halt. "But, do you mind if I cut in?"


	6. Inceptive

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… and a Happy Thanksgiving to all those who celebrated it!

To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

Donnie Drasko was what a lot of people would call a _vagrant_, _vagabond_, or the more simplistic and still just as accurate: _bum. _And the last was only if they were feeling especially charitable. Most of the people that he came into contact with considered him to be of better use as plant fertilizer than he was as a human being. Not that he disagreed with them, of course. It wasn't that Donnie wasn't smart (he was) or that he was lacking in the way of talent (he wasn't). Donnie had the kind of brains that would have made him the King of Wall Street. If he had so desired to become the King of Wall Street that is, which Donnie had decided he wasn't interested in even before he'd finished his Master's in Economics.

He was nice (to a point). He thought himself attractive (enough). He could be articulate (when he wanted to be). He was charming (if it behooved him to be). The few women who had drifted in and out of his life through the years had all thought him romantic, sophisticated, full of husband potential. But they'd all agreed that he lacked the necessary drive and passion to get anywhere in life. "No," Donnie had told them, what he lacked was the "desire to put in the required nine-to-five workday that people are expected to put in."

Donnie's lack of desire to work a fulltime job was not just sheer laziness on his part though. Like a great many others before him, Donnie discovered a dark and sinister underworld while he was in college. He became hooked on amphetamines during his junior year, convinced himself that he could only survive the demands of his full-time class schedule and part-time on-campus job with the chemical boost that the drugs gave him. But uppers gave way to downers before too long. And it wasn't long after that before he couldn't get through his day without a hit of something to keep his system charged.

The single major need in his life, the one thing that Donnie knew that he could not do without for more than a few hours at a time, was drugs. And it didn't matter what type of drug it was, either. Pills, dope, heroin, coke, acid or crack… so long as he could get high from it, he was happy. Donnie knew that he was considered a _junkie_ by the majority of his family and friends, a great many of whom had long since abandoned any hope that he'd ever clean himself up and fly right. And the host of shrinks and counselors he'd been forced to see whenever he'd been court ordered to either "get himself cleaned up" or "spend a few months in jail" all claimed that he was the "guy with an addiction problem that was complicated by an addictive personality."

He always got a huge kick out of that particular diagnosis.

Donnie definitely did not think of himself as an addict. Nor did he think that he suffered from any addiction problem. He just liked the euphoric feeling of being _high_. And he freely admitted that he did anything he had to in order to feed his habit. That was why, after he'd heard about the doctor who was looking for research participants in which to test out a new mind-altering drug that he was working upon, he'd happily signed himself up as a participant. And if there was a drug out there that was promising him a mind-altering experience that was even better than all the other highs he'd experienced over the years? Sigh him up, please.

The first meeting between him and the man who had introduced himself as Doctor Nichols, had gone like any other first meeting in which Donnie had engaged. But the drug, a pearlescent liquid that Nichols injected through a neural tube plugged directly into the back of Donnie's neck was better than anything he'd ever tried before, and he didn't exactly know why. Most of his drug use was about feeling good, being high, and feeling that hazy state of unreality. But he had no idea of just how to describe what he was feeling at the moment. Words just didn't seem capable of defining the tingly warm sensation coursing along his every nerve ending, or the feeling he had of floating through space on a soft white pillow of air. How was one to describe to a non-addict just why it was that putting a liquid into your vein, snorting a powder up your nose, or swallowing a pill could make you feel so damn good? There was just no way to describe it. And _this_ drug was primo of everything else he had ever tried!

He tripped that first time for close to twelve hours. When he finally came down, he was worried that a drug that powerful may have damaged his body and brain somehow. But Dr. Nichols assured him that he was the same as he was before he'd been given his first taste of what the doctor had called _Inceptive_. But then the hunger came, and Donnie thought he'd go mad with it. He'd been a user for over ten years at this point and so was accustomed to the gnawing ache that returned as soon as he came down from his high. But his craving only became more terrible after that first taste of whatever it was that Nichols was peddling.

He found himself desperately wanting to remain jacked into that custom neural-deck that injected his body with the connubial hallucinogen that was the drugs matrix. And he convinced himself that his cravings intensity was but a small price to pay for the most exhilarating high he'd ever experienced. He never suspected that his second time participating in this Doctor Crane's (whom he'd never met) experimental study that the parameters would be changed, that the original drug he'd been given might not be the one he'd receive this time around, or that things might go horribly wrong once he was plugged into that pod. Oh no, the only thing that Donnie Drasko was fixated on was getting that clear plastic tube with its euphoric top inserted into the small port that had been surgically created at the base of his neck and having that mind-altering goodness injected into his starving system.

Donnie was led into a vastly different looking room this time around. The initial experiment had been performed in a makeshift tent that had been set up in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. But this room almost reminded Donnie of the laboratory in which Dr. Frankenstein had created his monster. It was only after he recognized the more modern centrifuges, computer terminals and the lavish white pod that housed the neural-deck did he realize that he was really in the same room he had been the first time, just that more gadgets and gizmos had been added in order for the doctor to conduct his research.

As soon as he entered the room he was greeted by Nichols. Donnie was struck once again at how quiet and polite the doctor actually was. His large, rheumy gray-green eyes behind those wire-rimmed glasses were intelligent, compassionate and sympathetic. Nowhere as emaciated or pale as Donnie himself was, Nichols skin was wrinkled with age and dark brown spots, his skin sallow and what remained of his hair a dingy shade of white. They shook hands and Nichols indicated the pod with a wave of his hand.

"Shall we begin Mr. Drasko?" he asked in a somber tone.

Donnie immediately settled himself at the neural-deck and waited to be plugged into the drug matrix that would ease the torment he'd been going through ever since his initial dose a week ago. He never noticed that the pearlescent liquid had been replaced by one that was nearly a demonic shade of red. Or that a hungry expression had twisted the face of Nichols. Almost immediately he was propelled forward into the spidery web he craved, his mind expanding in a way that brought his every thought, his very emotion into sudden, startling clarity. Oh yes, this was exactly what he had been wanting-this heady sense of euphoria, of being weightless, as if he was lighter than the very air itself. But then the euphoria gave way to a rising dread, of a feeling of things crawling beneath his skin and burrowing deep. Reeling, never having been quite this stoned-not even during his thankfully brief LSD period, Donnie reached to the back of his neck to pull the plug, knowing instinctively that the cause of his unusual reaction were the drugs being injected into him. He looked up, intending to say something to the doctor about his unusual reaction. But what stood beside him was no longer Dr. Nichols. It was this huge floating apparition in a black shroud with a hideous burlap gas mask covering its face. From out of the mask's eyeholes there came a flood…

…._cockroaches and spiders were boiling up and foaming out, pouring from that gaping black maw that was leering down at him_.

Donnie jerked back in his chair and did not quite stifle his small, girlish sounding shriek. But he found that his body was frozen, stuck in the very chair in which he'd been dreaming of sitting in just mere hours ago. It was like invisible hands were holding him immobile, powerless as his tormentor slid closer, ever closer. Long, skeletal fingers reached out to cup his chin between what once had been a thumb and forefinger and made him look up at him….

..._cockroaches and spiders were boiling up, foaming out of the mask's eyeholes, crawling over that emaciated hand and those fingers_...

Fear rose up and strangled Donnie by the throat. He screamed over and over, his cries echoing off the walls and bouncing out the glassless windows. Glowing yellow eyes peered into the seemed able to see inside his very soul. Terror rose up to envelop Donnie and he began struggling, trying to break free of the nightmare that held him in its grip.

"Whatever is wrong, Mr. Drasko?" the apparition whispered. "Are you not finding the oblivion that you crave? That you have spent years searching for?"

"Let me outta here!" Donnie pleaded. "Please!"

"Sit still, Mr. Drasko, this won't hurt a bit."

Donnie screamed as pain ripped through his brain, exploded behind his eyes. He could not recall ever having felt like this before, not even after he had dropped that bad batch of acid. It felt like his brain was literally on fire, as if it was melting from the inside out. His screams of agony went on for several minutes. Then Donnie Drasko's world shattered and he would never have to worry about the doctor who'd offered him this ride, the doctor who'd injected the drug into his system, the apparition who'd tormented him, or from where his next high was going to come from, again.

* * *

Drasko was dead. Nichols used a cell phone to call for help in removing the body. "I will want to examine the body closely," he told the person who answered.

"Yes, doctor," came the mumbled reply.

Dr. Albus Nichols knew that he was playing with fire. Crane's so-called _lackeys _definitely were aware of what happened once the bodies had been taken down to makeshift morgue (he'd long since stopped hiding his proclivity), but they'd wisely chosen to maintain their silence. And he knew that the reason for why they'd chosen to keep silent was because of the ease in which that they could become part of Crane's experiment. Nichols pulled off the old burlap sack that he'd donned once Crane's version of _Inceptive_ had entered Drasko's bloodstream. He hated having to don this damn thing, found it annoying and itchy. Crane though had been adamant that the bag and shroud were a necessity.

In the six weeks since Crane's escape from Arkham Asylum he'd remained in hiding. At first it had seemed that the doctor was going to focus upon synthesizing his own version of Dr. Berkeley's infamous neurotoxin. That changed when the tenth subject died from the same complications which had killed his nine predecessors. There was something missing in Crane's chemical composition, a particularly key ingredient which was in _Inceptive_ and that stabilized the toxin and prevented it from liquefying the brains of their test subjects. Crane decided that he needed the help of the only person still alive who knew the original composition of _Inceptive_: Dr. Raya Kean.

Nichols briefly wondered how the masquerade ball was going and whether or not Crane had managed to get anywhere near the Kean woman. There was sure to be hell to pay once Crane realized he'd not only willfully altered the young doctor's datebook himself, but tipped off the doctor herself about what it was Crane had planned. _I don't care what you do to me_; Nichols thought while watching as a couple of shifty figures slunk into the room and began to prepare Drasko's body for removal. _I will do whatever I have to in order to keep your twisted paws from getting a hold of either Dr. Berkeley's formula, or his granddaughter. _


	7. Decisions

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

Outside, and two blocks away, a black SUV with dark-tinted windows and no license plates sat at a curb waiting. The front passenger door opened, and a tall man wearing nondescript black clothing dashed across the street and climbed inside. Once inside, he pulled a burlap mask out of a black bag, slipped it on, and turned in his seat to another similarly dressed man, code name Barrel, who was sitting in the driver's seat.

"Three of us. We can do this," he said, now going by the name of Shock.

The man in the backseat, code name Lock, looked up from loading a grenade launcher, and said, "Just us three? Is the Doc crazy?"

Shock replied, "there are two guys already waiting on the roof of the museum. Five guys is plenty for this job."

Lock said, "_six_ guys. Don't forget the Doc."

"Doc say what the signal is?" Shock asked.

Lock nodded and said, "soon as we see him exit the museum with the Kean woman we're to start shooting up the place with the gas grenades he gave us."

"And then we can sit back and watch as the hoity toity set drowns in their worst fears," Shock said.

* * *

On the roof of the Gotham Museum of Natural History, Oogie and Boogie stood near an access door. Oogie stomped his feet and stared over at Boogie. "You really think the Doc is gonna convince the Kean woman to leave the fundraiser with him willingly?"

"I heard the Doc's got something planned to ensure she leaves with him willingly," Boogie said, pulling out two portable oxygen tanks from a backpack.

"Oh yea?" Oogie said while strapping on one of the tanks. "What's he gonna do? Gas her or something?"

"You're new ain't ya?" Boogie shook his head. "Doc's made it clear that the Kean woman ain't to be gassed."

"Ain't that abnormal for a guy named the Scarecrow?"

"You gonna go and tell him his order is abnormal?" Boogie asked.

"No."

"Then shut up and get ready. We got ten minutes before we're to turn this place into a world of terror."

* * *

"Do you mind if I cut in?"

"Crane," Dick hissed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Those limpid eyes slowly shifted, that dark head lifted, and those thin pale lips thinned into a stark line of disapproval. He knew who this masked interloper was- his beloved's best friend. And that made him a very important person to Jonathan Crane. He knew that even more so than the Red Hood, whom the lovely doctor had been seeing until just a few weeks ago, Richard Grayson was very near and dear to her heart. As she was to his, he thought with some vexation. He'd witnessed the kiss they'd shared on the mezzanine, saw the way his hand rest on her lower back as they danced, took special notice of the coy looks they'd been giving each other all evening. There was a deeper relationship between them than he'd surmised there was. Which meant he needed to eliminate Richard Grayson in order to win his lady love's heart once and for all.

"Why, I am here to extract my beloved from your clutches," he simpered while masked couples continued dancing around them. "So kindly do take your hands off my intended."

"The hell I will," Dick gritted. He caught sight of Bruce standing at the edge of the dance floor, deep in conversation with Lucius Fox and made to signal him, but Crane's next words stopped him cold.

"I would not do that if I were you."

"And why not?"

Crane smiled, a slow, pleasant smile that made Raya's skin crawl. "Why because if I so much as see sign of a member of either Gotham's finest or the Batman, I will press the little button I have here in my glove and drown the good people attending this fundraiser in a succulent river of Fear."

Dick's body coiled like a cougar's at the implication in the doctor's silky smooth tone. "You wouldn't dare," he growled.

"Oh, but I would," the doctor said cheerily. "What is it to me if I deliver a few hundred doses of my toxin to Gotham's elite? Especially," he said in a soft, reverent voice while gazing at Raya. "If it acquires me the sole object of my desire?"

"You won't get away with this, Crane." Dick said ominously. "Batman will stop you just like he always does."

A glint of the madness lurking at the fringes of Crane's consciousness glimmered for a moment in his eyes; upon his face. "And just how do you propose that he is going to stop me?" he asked. "I currently hold all the power in my hands."

"Why are you doing this, Jonathan?" Raya's personal address of the doctor grated on Dick's already frayed nerves. He told himself she had a reason for being so informal with the doctor. And he told himself that he needed to trust her. _Unlike Jason, _he thought on a sigh_._ "What is it that you hope to achieve?"

As if she didn't already know the answer to that question was Dick's thought. Crane had only made his intentions abundantly clear the night that the Joker orchestrated his takeover of Arkham Asylum.

"Why, my darling." Crane executed a full body shift that reminded them of a snake undulating as it moved its long, serpentine frame along the ground. "All I want is you."

"Why me?" she demanded in a hard whisper. "Why am I so important, Jonathan? Is it because of my Grandfather's formula?"

"It is because we have so many things in common," he purred. "We enjoy the same books, the same music and movies. We have a deep appreciation for the theater. We appreciate the arts. Share a passion for psychology."

"Many people share similar interests..." Dick began on a low growl but Raya shushed him by resting her hand against his cheek.

"Go on," she said to Crane.

"We survived the constrictive abusive family model, building impressive careers in the field of psychology by utilizing our experiences and overcoming those less than desirable circumstances because of it."

"And this is why you wish to make me your Mistress of Fear?"

"And why I desire to have you standing at my side as I show Gotham that at the end of fear, is _oblivion_." He confirmed with a slight nod of his head.

"And _that_ will happen over my dead body," Dick snapped.

"Now that, Mr. Grayson," Crane's said with a smile that was both sly and child-like. "Is something that can very easily be arranged."

Dick let out a violent curse and reached for Crane, but Raya batted his arm away, completely stunning the hero.

"What are you doing, Rae?" he demanded in a hard whisper.

"Dick..." she turned and set a hand upon his chest. "It's not what you are thinking."

He pinned her with a burning stare. "Then what is it? Because it certainly looks like you just stopped me from getting my hands upon Crane."

She responded by curling her fingers into the lapels of his robe and saying in a low, charged whisper; "he has a _syringe_ in his hand, Dick. He was waiting for you to reach for him."

Dick shifted his head and spotted the syringe filled with a demonically red liquid Crane was cradling in his palm. The doctor's smile stretched wide. Openly daring him to say or do something, anything.

"You son of a bitch," Dick gritted.

"_Tch, tch_," the doctor sniffed disdainfully. "I will not have you use such language in the presence of my beloved."

"But you could dose me with that poison of yours in front of her."

"My good man," Crane cooed. "One dose of this and it will feel as if fire is coursing through your bloodstream. Every neural synapse will slowly begin to burn. Every lobe will slowly become a molten volcano. Every organ in your body will slowly begin to fail. It will be a most excruciating death I assure you."

"Hurt him and I swear to God, Crane, you'll wish it was Batman who was hunting you."

There was a hard edge to his beloved's voice and a glint to her hypnotic eyes that promised that no dark hole would be safe enough for him if something were to happen to the man standing behind her. He'd counted on her feelings for this man to make her act rashly, recklessly.

"His safety is in your hands my darling," his voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper. "You wish to keep him and the rest of the people in this room from being given a dose of my new toxin?" He canted his head, smiled. "Then it will require a teensy, tiny sacrifice upon your part."

"And lemme guess just what that _'teensy, tiny sacrifice'_ will be," Dick snarled. "Her agreeing to become your Mistress of Fear."

"And to give me the formula to Dr. Berkeley's behavioral modification agent."

Dick gave a bark of laughter. "You're joking right?"

The lucent eyes went dark and hooded for a moment, and the effect was like having ice water poured down her spine. Raya took a step back, instinctively protecting Dick from him. "I assure you, I am far from _joking_. I am quite serious in my request. If Doctor Kean wishes to protect _you_, then it will require her agreeing to not only become my Mistress of Fear, but to give me the formula for _Inceptive_, as well." Crane smiled, and somehow the dreamy quality of it was a hundred times more bone chilling than the look he'd given Dick a moment ago. "It seems like so little to ask for really. I am, after all, agreeing to spare your life. And considering how I view you as the closest competition I have to my beloved's heart, I find my request to be more than reasonable."

"There's absolutely no way that I am going to allow Raya to either give over Dr. Berkeley's formula, or to become your puppet in order to save my life."

"Why don't we ask Dr. Kean what value _she_ places upon your life?"

There was a dark and wet undercurrent to his voice that said that the monster lurking below the doctor's conscious was but waiting to make another appearance. That moist hiss not only warned her about their precarious situation with Crane, but specified just how far the demented fiend planned to go in order to convince her to accept his suit. Raya knew that if her answer was not the one he wanted that he would administer a dose of his toxin to Dick. She drew in a deep breath, released it slowly.

"His life is worth everything to me." She ignored Dick's vitriolic curse. "As you've already deduced, there is nothing I would not do, that I would not give in order to keep him from harm."

She saw triumph creep into those limpid eyes. Then Crane held out his hand, those long, graceful dactyls extended to her. "The decision is yours m'dear."

She slowly lifted her hand. "I'll go with you on one condition."

She saw him frown, dark brows drawing together over his sharp nose. He wasn't pleased, clearly, but he didn't go off on a tirade. "And that condition is?"

"That you do _not_ administer a dose of your toxin to Dick," she said. "Or to anyone else here as well."

"Raya..." she felt Dick rumbling against her back.

"Quiet." Her simple word held echoes of authority, and undertones of compulsion. Hearing it; he angled his head, one black brow rising as he stared down into her face. He'd been friends with her long enough to take note of the shuttered cast to her eyes. The blasted woman was up to something. He just couldn't figure out what that _something_ was. Raya turned her attention back to Crane. "Do we have an accord?" she asked.

"Yes, we do." He closed his long fingers around hers and gently pulled her to his side.

"Raya..." Dick grumbled.

She glanced at him. "It's going to be okay, Dick." She promised him in a soft voice. "Trust me."

With a final, taunting smile at his nemesis, Crane tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and slowly led her from the dance floor.


	8. The plot thickens

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

The rooftop of police headquarters became Police Commissioner Jim Gordon's personal refuge many, many years ago. It was the one place where he could go that was away from the nonstop phone calls, emails, faxes, emergency meetings, and general bureaucratic bullshit that came with his job. He liked thinking of the roof as his very own bat-cave. This was the place where he did his very best detective work, where he could concentrate on the really tough cases that tended to come his way and where he did not need to worry about being interrupted by one of the dozens of men who were under his supervision. In fact, it was here, on the roof of the GCPD, where he could think about absolutely nothing for five blessed minutes if he so desired it.

On clear nights like this one, the view from the roof offered him a look at the bridges, the surrounding islands and boroughs as well as an expansive view of Gotham's lower east side. All was quiet in the city for the moment. But Gordon knew Gotham, knew well how looks could be deceiving, especially in a place constantly ravaged by urban warfare as his city was. Who knew what shady deals were going on at this very moment, what violence was being perpetrated behind closed doors or in the seedy underground most people didn't even know existed.

Gordon stifled a yawn. Depending on how one wanted to look at the time, it was either very late or extremely early. He saw the hour as being close to the end of one extremely long shift. He'd been on the clock for the last thirty-six hours straight, watching and waiting for the hammer to fall and anticipating his niece would need every ounce of manpower he could muster once it did. _Can't believe I agreed to this plan_, he thought with a shake of his head. He'd adhered to Raya's logic about how attending the Wayne Foundation Annual Halloween Masque was the only way in which they could hope to lure the Scarecrow out of the hole the doctor was hiding himself in. He'd agreed to her plan even though every _dad instinct_ in his body was screaming out in protest and warning him it was a mistake. He'd contented himself with the reminder about his girl being a smart cookie. He knew she'd never do something without considering all the angles, seeing all the possible situations and examining every potential option first. He trusted her judgment, had watched her not only grow into a helluva doctor, but a crime fighter as well.

_I might not understand why she chose to don a mask_, he thought silently. _I cannot deny it, however. I am proud as punch that girl entered into the civic service field_.

He stifled another yawn. He should go home and snatch a few hours' of sleep, but he was in no hurry to do so. Sarah was away at a conference this weekend and the house felt depressingly empty without her. He didn't know why they had bought the house in the first place. He and Sarah practically lived at Police HQ. But Sarah had wanted some place they could call their own, where they could get away from the madness of their jobs and do something other than think about perps. _As if that isn't ninety-percent of what we discuss when we are home_, he thought with a soft chuckle.

Smacking a thick stack of files atop a nearby air duct, he settled back against the railing and began to look through the first one. There were many decisions needing to be made still, placements which needed to be carefully considered, and obligations still needing to be met before he could go home. The fallout from the Joker's takeover of Arkham Asylum had been dumped into his hands by the City Council mere hours after order of the island was restored—which annoyed the veteran cop greatly. It had always been his belief that Arkham Island was in need of police representation in the first place. He hadn't been the only one to have believed that either he thought now, gaze shifting to where a searchlight stood a few feet away from him. He'd believed a better system needed to be installed on the island as well.

"Sir?" A young uniformed officer joined him on the rooftop, breaking the Commissioner from his pensive thoughts. She approached Gordon tentatively. "I didn't want to bother you, but they are looking for you downstairs."

Gordon glanced up from the file he hadn't even bothered to start reading. "What's the problem, officer?"

"They just brought in Harley Quinn, sir. They aren't sure where exactly they should put her."

_Neither am I_, Gordon thought with a sigh. Harleen Quinzel was deranged enough on her own, a veritable loose cannon when the situation called for it. But the Joker's residual reaction, caused by the massive ingestion of Titan the clown had ingested prior to the grand finale of his world televised debut, was pushing the madwoman over what little brink of sanity she had remaining. This was the third time this week she'd escaped custody and attempted to return to her _puddin's_ side.

"Has Blackgate reached the maximum of how many criminals they can take?" he asked.

"No, sir," the rookie said. "But the degenerative and dangerous mental status of Harley Quinn has them wondering if housing her in Blackgate is a good idea." She rolled her shoulders into a faint shrug and smiled ruefully. "And considering she has already broken the noses and ribs of five officers, they might have cause to be concerned about housing her there."

Gordon smiled. He appreciated the young officer's frankness. "What do you think we should do with Miss Quinn?"

"I...don't know, sir," the rookie said slowly. "I've only been a cop for nine months, and I have never come up against someone as dangerous as Quinn appears to be."

"But?" his lips quirked beneath his bushy mustache.

"But it seems to me that we keep capturing these people and locking them up only for them to keep breaking out. Arkham Island was supposed to house the inmates and prisoners who Blackgate were ill equipped to handle. It was supposed to clean up Gotham's streets and protect our people from the degenerate filth trying to hurt them. Well," she said. "Its only plunged us into the middle of something that seems to be even worse. Where does it end, sir?"

There was a lot an old veteran detective like him could see in the face of a young rookie. Once upon a time he'd been as idealistic about his role as a police officer, believing that if he locked up the bad guy, locked up was where the bad guy would remain until they'd served out their sentence. But the wheels of justice were not cast in shades of black and white, as Gordon had discovered once he'd joined the GCPD all those long years ago. _Corrupt_ was the best way to describe the Gotham justice system. And even that didn't accurately portray the _corruption_ infesting the Gotham City Police Department.

"I wish I knew the answer to your question, officer," Gordon said softly.

"Whose job is it to clean up the streets of Gotham?" she questioned him softly.

"Cleaning up the streets of Gotham is our job," he replied firmly. _And we've done a damned decent job of it_, he thought with a surge of pride. Things in Gotham would be a lot worse if it wasn't for the men and women who lived and died to protect Gotham from the degenerates who tried to overrun it. Men like Batman. The help the GCPD received from either the Dark Knight or one of his young protégés often proved to be the separation between failure and success in taking down either a single criminal, or an entire crime syndicate. _We wouldn't be able to corral some of the animals and monsters without the help of Batman_ _and his boys_, Gordon thought now.

"What about Batman?"

Gordon heard something in the young woman's voice. He gave the rookie a closer look. She was a petite young woman with medium length blonde hair and hazel blue eyes. She was still young and inexperienced, but Gordon recognized the hungry look in her eyes and the set of her jaw—that level of eagerness and curiosity which Gordon could remember from his own early days working as a beat cop in Chicago. "What's your name, officer?"

"Donnelly, sir."

Gordon set down the file. "Is there something specific that you want to ask me about Batman, Officer Donnelly?"

The officer hesitated, clearly uneasy about what it was that she wanted to talk about. Then she blurted it out—the words one long exhalation of air. "The guys downstairs are saying that Batman is a menace. That everything bad that's happened is because of him."

Gordon smiled. "And do you believe that Batman is a menace?"

"I don't want to, sir," Donnelly said, frowning. "I mean, Batman has done so much to help the people of Gotham. I don't want to think—to believe that he's the reason for everything bad that's happened to our city."

"I'm hearing a _but_ at the end of your statement, officer," he said kindly.

Donnelly shifted uneasily, but she had to know. "Well, sir, it does seem like the bad guys always target innocent Gothamites because they are trying to get even with Batman. Does it..." she hesitated for a second. "Does it make him the problem rather than the solution?"

Gordon walked over to the searchlight that was a few feet away from him. He ran his finger over the emblem fused to the steel casing. That lens had projected its ominous bat-winged shape onto the night sky for many years now and would continue to do so for many years to come if he had anything to say about it. It was a signal to the people of Gotham that they were safe, that someone was watching over them—that the bad guys were not going to win.

"No, Officer Donnelly, I don't see Batman as part of the problem. In fact," he turned to look at the young rookie. "If it were not for Batman, more innocent Gothamites would be injured at the hands of monsters like the Joker."

Donnelly seemed satisfied by Gordon's answer, and looked relieved to know that her boss continued to believe in and support Gotham's Knight. Gordon couldn't blame her for wanting to know whether or not he viewed the Dark Knight as the problem rather than the solution. The question of whether or not Batman was a solution or a cause to what happened in Gotham was a long debated one among city officials and government personnel. She'd probably grown up hearing how he deserved to be locked up right alongside the criminals that he captured—that he was no better really than the criminals that he brought to justice.

Gordon had learned a long time ago though that good people were sometimes required to do bad things in order to serve the greater good. Batman was capable of doing what the police could not, he could make the hard decisions, go into the places that their equipment and technology prevented them from going. He was a necessity that Jim Gordon had come to rely on, that he believed in, that he trusted. _I've entrusted him with the lives of both my daughter and my niece_, he thought while looking at that spotlight. _And I know he would die in order to keep either of my girls safe_. And that was enough for Gordon. He walked towards the access door.

"Shall we go see if we can figure out a placement for Miss Quinn?"

Donnelly nodded and turned to follow after him. She straightened her uniform and heard the crinkle of paper as she crushed it in her fist. She glanced at the note, started. "Sir?" she called. "I forgot..." Gordon stopped and turned, one bushy white eyebrow lifted in silent question. Donnelly flushed and handed him the note. "This came for you."

Gordon stared at the note she handed him, feeling as if the rug had just been yanked out from beneath him. _So, it's that son of a bitch who has been helping Crane_… he thought, a cold fury erupting inside him that was far different from the anger he'd directed at criminals for the span of his career as a cop. Donnelly saw her boss's reaction and immediately stepped forward, concerned.

"Sir?" she asked. "What is it?"

Gordon glanced at her. "Matthew Berkeley is planning on kidnapping his daughter from the Wayne Foundation's Annual Halloween Masque."

But then a voice inside his head reminded him about how Raya was _not_ Matthew Berkeley's daughter, that he'd given up his parental rights the night he murdered Ellen Rae Kean, his wife and Raya's mother. And it wasn't Matthew Berkeley who his girl considered as her father anyway; it was himself and Bruce Wayne that she considered as her father's.

To the outside world, such a familial relationship would be considered unusual. Unnatural even. But Gordon saw it differently, and informed anybody who questioned its oddity just why the relationship worked as well it did. And why shouldn't it? he silently wondered. Was it not he and Bruce Wayne who'd stayed up with her when she'd awoken from nightmares, who'd held her when she'd been sick and afraid, or paced the floors of Gotham General while she was having a pin surgically inserted into the arm the son of a bitch had broken. And was it not them who'd established the proper rules, set the accepted boundaries and taught her the difference between right and wrong. Gordon knew it was easy for anyone to become a father. One only had to look at Matthew Berkeley to substantiate that claim. But James Gordon, as much as Bruce Wayne, understood how it took someone very special to take on the responsibility of being a child's _dad_. They'd _both_ chosen to take on the role of her _dad_ because the _father_ their girl had been given was nothing but an abusive, murdering psychopath. And while _he_ knew he had not succeeded in protecting Raya from all her father's abuse and cruelty, he had managed to shelter her from as much of it as he could.

The result of his having taken an active role in her life was in the pleasure of having the same bond with Raya that he shared with Barbara. _He_ was the one she would call when she was lonely and missing home, the one she came to when she needed advice or just needed a _dad_ to tell her everything was going to be okay. _You son of a bitch_, he thought savagely. _You won't get your hands on my girl. Not tonight or any other night_.

"Go and tell Detective Bullock I said to rally together his men and get them the hell over to the Gotham Museum of Natural History."

"Yes, sir."

If Gordon heard her, Donnelly did not know. He'd already turned, heading for the spotlight, intending to send up its infamous signal in order to call the one man, the _only_ man in all of Gotham who'd be able to get to Raya before Matthew Berkeley could.


	9. No!

**A/N:** Hope you all had a fabulous holiday on the 25th (if you celebrated)! For those of you going out on New Years, have a safe and Happy New Year! See you guys in 2014!

* * *

Down on the street, Barrel guided the SUV to an open spot in front of the museum. He switched off the engine and, without bothering to lock the doors, went into the museum. Shock and Lock carried grenade launchers with several specially designed grenade rounds in their pockets. Barrel was the only one carrying an assault rifle. Once inside the atrium, he fired a burst into the ceiling as Shock hit a security guard in the face with the end of his weapon, and Lock trained his weapon upon the panicking crowd. Barrel fired another burst, as Shock yelled, "Alright you rich snobs- listen up!"

Men and women alike began tittering with rising terror, some dropping to their knees, and others trying to find places in which to stash the shiny baubles they knew these hoodlums had come to liberate. One of the security guards saw what was occurring on one of the monitors and picked up the phone to dial the police. Twenty-three floors up, on the roof, Boogie stared down at a palm-sized electronic device and felt it vibrate in his hand.

"That the signal?" Oogie asked.

"Security is calling out to the police, just like we figured they would," Boogie said. "And there goes the scrambler. Coppers won't be coming to help these jerks anytime soon."

Behind him, Oogie raised his gun and bashed Boogie in the back of the head with it. As Boogie slumped to the roof unconscious, Oogie picked up the scrambler and typed in a few commands in order to shut the program off. He tapped his Bluetooth as he moved to the roof access door. "Barb?" He said. "I've shut the scrambler off."

"The police have been notified and are en route, Tim," Barbara Gordon's voice crackled in his ear. "And Conner has made it into the museum."

"Has he seen Crane? Or Raya?"

"No, not yet."

Tim cursed silently. "Alright," he said. "Keep me posted."

"Will do."

Less than a minute after ending his call with Barbara, Tim had the roof access door open, and was running down a flight of steps, lit only by one lightbulb on each landing. When he reached the bottom, he pried open a door marked EXIT and was standing in the primate exhibit.

* * *

Damian Wayne watched as Raya was escorted from the makeshift ballroom by a man dressed as the phantom from the _Phantom of the Opera. _His eyes narrowed in keen speculation and he weaved his way through the crowd, meaning to intercept the pair before they could leave the museum. A hand clamped down hard on his shoulder and he shot a furious look at his captor, body tensing until he realized the one holding him was Dick. Speculation and anger gave over to surprise as he stared at the older man.

"Damian," Dick said. "Where's Bruce?"

"Father slipped out when the commotion started."

Both brows forked at hearing that. "He slipped out?"

"Grayson, can you really be this much of an idiot?"

Those blue eyes flashed a warning. "Dami, I'm seriously not in the mood for your crap right now."

Damian heaved a disgusted sigh. "Father knew Raya was going to disobey him and come to the Masquerade so he hid a case with a spare Batsuit in it in the primate exhibit just in case Crane did show up."

Dick told himself he wasn't surprised about Bruce stashing a Batsuit nearby. Overly suspicious and paranoid were as common too Bruce Wayne as peanut butter was to jelly. He was, however, still surprised (and seriously annoyed) by how willingly Raya had chosen to leave with Crane. He knew part of her reasoning was as much because of the threat the doctor made against him as it was from his promise too gas the people attending the masque as well. There was another part of him, though, a deep and dark part which was whispering that threat or no threat, she was going to leave with Crane no matter what. There was only one reason for why she'd have left so willingly with the man, he realized, his expression turning ominous. Damian felt a chill snake along his spine when he saw the thunderous expression upon his older brother's face.

"Dick?" he asked hesitantly. "What is it?"

"The sneaky woman has something up her sleeve," he said on a low, venomous hiss. "And if I know her as well as I think I do, she's got someone to help her with whatever it is she has planned."

Damian's thought was, _Kean, we're gonna have some serious explaining to do once this is all said and done with._

* * *

In the main exhibit room, Shock was moving down a line of masked partygoers, forcing them to all organize in front of one exhibit wall. Barrel walked behind the guests with his assault rifle cradled in his arms like a baby and Lock followed, collecting money and jewelry in a burlap bag he'd brought with him.

"Don't be thinking you can hide any of your valuables from us," Lock told the hostages. He turned towards one gentlemen. "Hand over that Rolex, pal!"

Then there was a _crack _against the back of his head and Lock dropped like a sack of potatoes, his satchel of pilfered goods spilling out onto the floor. The hostages, some clutching each other, scurried across the floor in an effort to remain out of the path of the stocky masked man. Shock heard the commotion and turned to look at Barrel.

"What the hell happened?" he asked. "Where's Lock?"

Barrel jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the exit of the room.

"He go up to the mezzanine?"

Barrel nodded.

Shock nodded as he walked over to a woman dripping in diamonds. "Fork over the jewels, lady."

"N...no!"

Shock grabbed for the pistol shoved into the waistband of his pants, but then there was a loud _thwack _across his shoulders and Shock dropped the pistol as he was knocked to the floor, dazed but still conscious. His conscious state didn't last long as a hard wooden object was smashed against his temple a second later. Tim stepped over the thug's body and approached Barrel, who was watching him, rifle held loosely at his side. He froze though when he heard Dick say from behind him,

"So when did she call you two for help?"

Tim whipped around to stare at the older hero. Surprise, and what Dick assumed was a flash of guilt shimmered on the visible parts of Tim's face. He stared at his younger sibling, letting him know they'd be having a talk about things later. Tim stared back, not intimidated by the threat he saw in those blue eyes before he shifted and pinned the obstinately silent boy at Dick's side with a look that promised _they'd _have words if he didn't start talking. Damian gave him a dead-eyed predatory look, one which would normally have had warning bells ringing in Tim's head. He was far too pissed with the Boy Wonder to pay heed to the storm clouds brewing in his oceanic eyes though.

"Why are you pissed at Raya?" Conner asked as he pulled the burlap mask off. "This ain't all her doing, Dick."

"The daft woman left with Crane," Dick growled. _Willingly. _What I wanna know now is why?"

The smile on the lips of the kryptonian superhero died. "Raya left with Crane?"

Dick nodded, snarled, "Yes."

Conner turned to say something to Tim, but his best friend was already racing for the exit. Dick watched him leave before he glanced at Conner.

"Her leaving was _not _part of the plan I'm presuming?"

"No, it was not!" Conner yelled over his shoulder. Dick sighed and turned to look at Damian.

"Dami-"

"Alfred has them in the car."

Dick's teeth flashed briefly. "Glad one of you was thinking logically."

Damian's new thought was: _He's so gonna kill me when he finds out I masterminded this whole plan. And if he doesn't? _The Boy Wonder swallowed a grimace_. Father certainly will._

* * *

Raya allowed Crane to lead her out into the cool autumn night. She could tell he was feeling victorious at the moment. There was a jauntiness to his step, and his thin lips were stretching into a Cheshire grin that had her stomach curdling with bile. Her hands wanted to tremble. More, they wanted to strike. Deliberately, she curled her nails into the folds of her robe, imagining the smocked velvet to be the doctor's face.

_The son of a bitch. _Once she'd seen the crimson vial in Crane's hand she'd known what he was willing to do in order to gain her compliance. Rage simmered deep down in her soul, was carefully concealed by the mask she'd crafted throughout the duration of her tempestuous childhood. That Crane had had the balls, the unmitigated gall, the outright _nerve _to insinuate he would kill Dick. To stand there and _smile _at her as if he'd expected her to react just as she had. That he was walking beside her, all but gloating over his victory made her absolutely sick.

_Bastard._

She'd known the moment he'd approached them that Damian's plan was about to start unravelling at the seams. Just as she'd known what it was he'd planned when he'd smiled that smile which was both sly and child-like all at the same time. Fear had washed over her, flooded into her, as she'd spotted the syringe in his hand. Beneath that fear was a cornucopia of other dark emotions she was struggling to control. Pain, shock, joy, fury, all so intense, all demanding precedence, she was dizzy from them. One stunning emotion slamming into the other, leaving her nerves stretched to the breaking point.

She could only thank the fates that her foreknowledge of Crane's plan to approach her at the masque had allowed her time to compose herself. Had she not had that time to prepare herself, she might have given into her temptation to plant her fist in Crane's face and watch blood spurt like a geyser from his nose. How satisfying it would have been to see the flicker of pain and surprise cross his face at her violent attack. She contented herself by telling herself that he'd be mud once one of the members of her family (or all of them as far as she was concerned) got their hands upon him.

"Are you feeling unwell, m'dear?" Crane inquired solicitously as he led her down the street.

"No, why do you ask?"

"You have been very quiet since we departed the company of your dear little friend."

She glanced over at him, just a hint of a frown in her eyes. "Don't speak of him in that condescending tone, Jonathan."

His lips stretched into a wide, knowing smile. "I will remind you that his safety is still in your hands. If you wish to keep your precious _Nightwing _safe," his voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper that skittered along her clammy skin. "Then you will do _everything _I say."

Raya felt the color drain from her face. He knew who Dick was, she realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Because of her, because of his infatuation with her, he'd managed to deduce Dick's identity as Nightwing. _And he will not hesitate to exploit his knowledge in order to get his hands upon me and Inceptive, _she realized. Fury erupted at that point and she yanked her hand free of his arm before facing off with him.

"Reveal his identity," she said in a low growl. "Or do anything whatsoever to cause Dick pain and I'll teach _you _a whole new meaning of fear."

Her threat both amused and captivated him. Gently, almost reverently, he reached out and traced his thumb over the ridge of her ice-sculpted cheek. She barred her teeth in a wordless snarl and jerked her head away, which further amused the doctor. He'd gotten what he'd longed for, however. It was only the second time he'd ever been allowed to touch her in so intimate a fashion.

The first time he was able to reach out and physically touch the skin that, until a few weeks ago, he'd only been able to imagine would be soft as silk, had been back at the Asylum. His first touch had been like a sunburst exploding in the middle of his chest. This touch, however... oh, this time was much, much different. This touch was like being scorched by the flames of the sun. Tendrils of heat shot throughout every inch of his body, warming the dark regions coated in ice, and sending the Scarecrow scurrying for cover. It was a heady sensation for a man who'd spent years literally feeling _nothing, _not even the most carnal of desires.

"My dear, dear woman," he purred while gently cupping her chin between two of his elongated fingers. "There is nothing I would love for you to make me feel more than the one emotion that has eluded me my whole life."

Raya smacked his hand away at the same time a voice growled from the steps, "Get your hands off her, Crane."

Crane looked around his beloved and saw a masked figure standing upon the steps. The red and black body armor and thin red mask told him who this was: Red Robin. Not that it really mattered. He had positioned members of his crew around the perimeter of the museum and given strict orders to deploy his toxin at sign of any masked crime fighters. At that moment, however, another figure joined the little Red bird on the museum steps. This figure gave Crane sufficient pause.

He had not counted upon the kryptonian being called upon to assist with preventing him from taking his beloved home. While Crane was fairly confident a dose of his new toxin would bring even a man like Superboy crumbling to his knees, he couldn't be certain as to how long before the toxin would take effect. Even a few minutes was more than enough time for the superhero to put a serious kink in his plans. Sirens sounding in the distant further complicated matters.

It was time to make an exit.

"We must be off now, m'dear," he said as he pressed a button on the remote in his hand. Burlap mask wearing goons swarmed out of nowhere. Some were quickly dispatched by a few well placed blows from Tim's bo-staff while others were tossed into a dumpster in the alley across the street by Conner. The first swarm was quickly followed by another. A black shadow swooped down from the sky like an avenging angel, slamming into an assault rifle toting henchman who was taking aim at Tim. He drug the screaming goon across the pavement a few feet before knocking the man unconscious with a jaw breaking punch. Crane realized the situation was officially out of his control. He heard sirens approaching from the opposite end of the street. He grabbed hold of Raya at the same time tires squealed around the corner.

His beloved, though, had reached the end of her patience. Raya caught Crane with a vicious backhand slap, knocking his mask askew and bloodying his nose. She was about to hit him again when she felt a familiar tingle along her spine that warned her danger was approaching. She glanced up and saw a black SUV had pulled up near to where she stood with Crane. A man with his head swathed in dirty white bandages emerged from the passenger seat, an assault rifle held loosely in his hands.

Raya felt her heart stop as she recognized the danger this gun toting man presented. Without her armor or her grapnel gun (and dressed as she was in her impractical costume), she was vulnerable to the procession of bullets the rifle would unleash. She'd be torn to shreds right in front of her family. Crane, too, realized the danger to his beloved and let out an almost inhuman shriek while being pulled towards the waiting utility vehicle by another masked goon.

"No!" He objected. "Stop! Stop I say!" He yanked against the hands pulling him towards the vehicle. "Let me go, you fool! I must rescue my Mistress!"

He saw the police vehicles streaking towards them.

So did the bandaged man. He lifted the rifle and aimed it right at Raya. Raya turned to run, pulling the train of her robe and gown up to keep from tripping over them while she made a mad dash for safety. Internally, she knew she wasn't going to be fast enough. She heard Tim shout her name and instinctively spun in his direction.

The gun made an ominous _click._

Desperate now to save his beloved, Crane screamed out at the dark figure who'd just become aware of the danger one of his own was in. "Batman, do something!"

It was too late, though.

The man opened fire.


	10. Time

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

Happy New Year's all!

* * *

Dick Grayson felt as if he was being plunged straight into the middle of a nightmare. One second Raya was in the alley below, arguing with Crane. The next she was in trouble. Seriously deep trouble. A couple dozen henchmen had sprung from outta nowhere, prepared to spray the street and the people standing in it with gunfire. But it was the lone gunman with his face and head swathed in surgical bandages which concerned the superhero the most. The assault rifle the man cradled in his arms was no child's toy. Nor were the bullets the thing would spit out once the trigger was depressed rubber ones. They were fully loaded ammunition rounds that Dick knew would pierce her flesh and spill her blood all over that pavement.

Time.

It all came down to time. It always came down to time. A second, a minute, or an hour. Three entities of the same linear property, all with different units being used to measure that continuous unit. Knowing if you had seconds, minutes or hours could make all the difference in the world between a plan being a success, or a failure. Here, one second, barely the span of an indrawn breath, was going to make all the difference between Raya _living _or _dying_.

Twenty-five seconds.

That's all the time he had to cover the distance looming between him and the woman who was staring the Grim Reaper in the face. He glanced at the masked figure on his left.

"Dami, give me your grapnel gun. I might need it."

Damian handed the item over without a qualm. "Do you think you can reach her before he opens fire?"

Dick's expression relaxed into a kind of intense concentration, almost like a sense of doubt. "I'll either get to her," he said grimly. "Or I'll die right alongside her."

Twenty seconds.

He fired the grapnel gun.

* * *

Time.

Time always seemed to stop when one of your own was in the fight for their life. All Bruce knew was that one of his children was in danger. Serious danger. He could hear Tim, and he could hear Conner and even Crane yelling over the droning sound filling his ears, buzzing in his heart. His only thought was he was about to watch as one of his children was gunned down in the middle of the street and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Bruce Wayne had failed to protect her.

Batman could not hope to save her.

It was his hellish nightmare all over again.

A parent's greatest fear was to lose one of their children to death. It was an understandable fear, he knew. For him, though, it was a fear that was magnified beyond all normal proportions. He'd already lost one of his children to the hands of death. He'd stood upon this precipice and been forced to watch as he nearly lost one of his other boys to those cold and clammy fingers. It was Jason's death though which continued to haunt him the most. It was his death that was rising up and choking him with the remembered grief and anger, with the never forgotten sense of helplessness, with the everlasting regret. The death of Jason Todd, as well as the events leading up to his brutal death was something he'd remember for the rest of his life. Jason's passing had wrought changes in him, made him darker and angrier then he'd been when he'd first donned the cape and cowl of Batman. It was also Jason's death that was one of the events he'd go back in time to correct if he was ever given the ability to do so.

Time.

It all came down to time. It always came down to time. A second, minute or hour made all the difference between life and death. There was not enough time for him to sweep across the distance separating him from Raya. Not enough time for him to launch a batarang, even a boosted remote controlled one and disarm the gunman about to tear her body to shreds with gunfire. Too much distance was between him and the bandaged man for his disruptor to buy them a few more desperately needed seconds.

Bruce was about to call out to Superboy, the only member of their small faction who stood a slim chance of getting to Raya before the bandaged man opened fire. The words died in his throat when he spied the armored figure swoop down out of the shadows. Spying that lean muscular shape clad in familiar black and red Kevlar and Nomex drop down behind Raya was like being plunged into a whole new level of hell for Bruce. Losing one child to a madman's bullet was a hard enough pill for the anguished father to swallow. Losing two children at the same time?

That was going to be absolutely unbearable.

* * *

Time.

It was something Timothy Drake hated with a passion. Time had nearly taken his adoptive father away by sucking him into a linear vortex that led straight into the past. That same time continuum had isolated him from his family, from his friends, and even from himself for months. Now time was threatening to take away Raya. Only this time the superhero knew time would not be giving her back. She'd be gone, and more gone than she'd been when she'd been separated from Bruce. Well, the young superhero thought savagely, time couldn't have her. He refused to allow it to have her. Desperation surged within him as he began to battle an invisibly ticking clock. He cracked the end of his bo-staff against the temple of an advancing goon, but was already racing towards her when the man hit the ground.

Time.

Time was the crucial deciding factor in whether or not they'd be able to rescue her before that gunman opened fire. A handful of seconds was about all they had between life and death. Well, a handful of seconds and one kryptonian superhero. They had to make every one of those seconds count.

"Conner!" he called shrilly to his best friend. "Conner, you have to get Raya!"

He saw Conner shift, saw him recognize the danger Raya was in, but before he could soar across the ground and rescue her, another masked figure dropped down from out of nowhere. Tim felt his heart stop when he saw it was Dick who'd gotten to her. Time continued ticking. The only ambient sounds he could hear were the ticking of that infernal clock and the _click_ of the assault rifle as the bandaged man aimed his weapon of death now at both his brother and the closest thing he had to a sister.

Time, the young superhero thought, was a bitch.

* * *

Time.

It all came down to time. A second, minute, or hour could make all the difference in the world sometimes. All Raya knew was that she was in deep shit. Seriously deep shit. She'd been caught in an ambush, without her armor or any of her gear, with a madman aiming an assault rifle at her. She could hear the _whirr _of the helicopters overhead, heard the police sirens, but knew they couldn't provide her any support. In that moment she knew she was going to die. She was trapped. She had nowhere to run, to hide. Not even Bruce could save her at that point.

_Bruce, I'm sorry. I should have listened to you. I should have obeyed your edict and returned home to the Manor._

She could admit now she hadn't seen that the real danger was not coming from Dr. Jonathan Crane, but from her father, Matthew Berkeley Jr. Oh, yes, she now knew this was her father's handiwork. This was to be his final coupe de grace upon her and the members of her surrogate family. Kill her and he'd punish the four men who'd routinely stood in his way of getting vengeance upon _her. _It was the final act of a man who'd spent her entire life punishing her for the sheer mistake of having been born a girl. She heard a man yelling, recognized the voice as belonging to her Uncle Jim, and felt her heart constrict for what she was about to put both him and Bruce through.

_I'm sorry, Uncle Jim. I should have listened to you when you said your dad instincts were screaming at you, telling you that my coming here tonight was a mistake. _

Her life became totally clear at that moment; she saw everything and understood _why,_ perfectly. She understood what was about to happen, she knew what this man was about to do, and wasn't thinking or worrying about how she was going to feel come tomorrow morning.

There wasn't going to be any more tomorrow mornings.

Time.

It always came down to time she thought, drawing in a breath. A second, minute, or hour made all the difference in the world. If she had just one minute more of life to live, she'd use those sixty seconds to tell her family how much she loved them; would miss them. One minute more and she'd tell Dick she loved him; had always loved him, in fact.

Not telling Dick she was in love with him was the single greatest regret of her life.

The gun making that ominous _click _was the only ambient sound she could hear at that moment.

It was too late she realized, slowly releasing that final breath.

Time had run out.

_Yeah, I'm gonna die. But my consolation is that Bruce and Dick will tear this city and you apart in retaliation._

She realized she was oddly detached about her impending doom. A weird sort of calm was infusing her, as was a quiet acceptance of her fate. Someone was yelling at her, but she took no notice of who it was. Her eyes clashed with the gunman's, silently daring him to take his shot. The next instant she felt a familiar tingle shooting up the base of her spine and she half-turned a split second before a familiar arm cinched tight around her waist and yanked her against a hard body she'd know in her sleep.

"Hold on," she heard him say over the hammering of her heart, then there was a _poof _and they were weightless, pulled into the night sky a mere second before gunfire exploded below them. They landed on the roof of the Society of Gotham Pioneers building. Their feet hit the solid roof at nearly the same exact time, but rather than let go, they merely clung tighter to each other. One of them trembled, but it was hard to tell which one of them it was.

Raya had stared down the barrel of a gun before, had known death was going to be imminent. She'd become used to death being the darkest price to pay for her chosen nocturnal profession. Even still, she could admit she was just rattled enough by having that assault rifle pointed at her that even having solid ground beneath her and her Knight's strong arms around her was not helping to settle her down. She buried her head into the crook of his neck and let out a shaky breath. Dick ran a hand that was not quite steady over the cap of her hair.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a voice that was less controlled than normal. "God, Raya…"

"Yeah." Fear still held her by the throat so the two words were thin and desperate. "Yeah, I'm okay," she repeated with more control. Damn it, she was starting to shake, she realized. "Well, _okay _might be a bit presumptuous of me to say right at this moment. But I am getting there, _slowly_." She angled her head to look at him. "Just don't let go, 'kay?"

"I have no plans to let you go, Rae." Yeah, she thought she was calm. She thought she was steady. However Dick knew Raya well enough to know she was beyond freaked out at that moment. She was shaking, her eyes were glassy and her cheeks were ghostly pale. Hell, worry and fear were crashing over him in waves. He could imagine they were like plunging waves threatening to drag her out into a black emotional sea. He tried to be his usual wisecracking self, as much to reassure himself as her.

"Oh, c'mon, Rae," he teased in a hoarse voice. "This is like foreplay to us."

Raya knew what was he trying to do and tried to reply in kind. But God it was hard to be snarky when her knees were knocking harder than a car engine and her heart was racing faster than a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby. "If this is your idea of foreplay, ya need serious help, bird brain."

"You've been tellin' me that for years."

"I know." Then she looked at him. "Kiss me, will ya?"

Both brows shot up at her request. "Excuse me?"

"Kiss me. We both want it, and it will help to settle us down."

There might have been amusement, just a small speckle of it in his voice. "Kissing is going to settle us down?"

"Won't know unless we give it a shot." She circled his neck with her arms; let her fingers play with his hair. "I just know that at this moment, I cannot think of anything else I wanna do more. So kiss me. Unless you're chicken shit…"

"Well, now that you've challenged me..."

* * *

Time.

Time meant something else entirely for Jonathan Crane. Time was interfering with his plans to drown Gotham in a whole new level of fear. Time with his beloved was being stolen away. Time was ruining all of his plans. Time was an inconsiderate inconvenience. Crane was furious, as angry with himself as he was with his hired goons, research assistant, and business partners'. He was surrounded by incompetence on all sides he fumed as he was pushed into the back of the SUV by one of his useless goons. His partner, Matthew Berkeley had just overstepped his bounds by ordering their mutual partner to murder his beloved (who was also the man's daughter, much to the vexation and chagrin of Crane). He'd just spent the worst twenty-five seconds of his life watching as his bandaged partner not only tried to murder the delectable Dr. Kean, but as her rescue was facilitated at the hands of the very last man he desired to be who saved her.

It was time to remind his bandaged partner about who was really in charge here. Matthew Berkeley may have been their mutual benefactor, and his money and social pull a valuable asset for them to use while working towards accomplishing their mutual goals, but he was not the one who was calling the shots. Nor was his beloved to again be threatened with an automatic assault rifle. His long fingers curled like talons into the material of his trousers. Oh no, he thought viciously. That would most definitely not happen again. Not if his partner did not wish to find himself as one of his more _unlucky_ research subjects. Crane felt something drop into his lap. He lifted it and stared at it: his mask. He thought this was delightful, and exchanged the flimsy mask he'd worn with his costume for the burlap one. He looked at the man who'd climbed into the front seat.

"And why have you brought me this?" he asked politely.

"It's time to play, Dr. Crane," the man rasped. "Your man has a new crop of research participants waiting to meet you back at the center."

Crane-or the Scarecrow as he now was, gave an urbane nod of his head. _Yes_, he thought. It was time to play. Time to research and study and perfect his toxin.

"Let us be off then."

The bandaged man turned in his seat as the SUV sped away from the chaotic scene the doctor had created. Seconds later the SUV skidded around the corner onto Dorsley Avenue and was racing away into the night. Seconds that allowed Crane to spy the figures who were standing upon the roof of the Pioneers building. They were wrapped around each other like moss on an oak tree. Wrapped up and quite wrapped up _in _each other as well. His lips twisted into a cruel sneer beneath his mask and he vowed to not only make Richard Grayson pay for having dared to put his filthy hands (and lips) upon his beloved, but Matthew Berkeley as well for having orchestrated the entire affair.

Yes, the doctor thought with an evil cackle. It was time to teach Matthew Berkeley about who was really in charge of their little operation.


	11. Unsettled

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

After their lips parted, Raya pressed her cheek to Dick's, held there. "I'm feeling a little bit more settled," she told him. "What about you?"

He pulled her tighter against him. "I'm thinking that if kissing is your answer ta calming nerves," he teased. "Then I'm gonna be in need of settling again real soon."

She chuckled, lightly. "I have a feeling I've created a monster."

He angled his head back to look at her; flashed her a lopsided grin. "_You _were the one who said I should kiss ya because ya were so unsettled."

"I was unsettled," she said. "I'm still a bit unsettled to be honest with you."

"Having an automatic assault rifle aimed at you might be a good reason for why you're still off balance."

"Mm," was all she said as she nuzzled her cheek against his. "More unsettled me ta see how far Crane is willing ta go in order ta get me and _Inceptive, _Dick."

"Hey." Dick stepped back and reached up to frame her face. "No way are you passing off an assault rifle being aimed at you as being unimportant. A dose of whatever vile shit Crane has in that syringe is less dangerous than the multiple bullets which woulda riddled your body. You scared the shit outta me, Rae."

"Scared the shit outta me, too."

"Keeping that in mind, can ya explain ta me just what in the hell ya were thinking? Why did ya leave the Museum with Crane? Especially since ya had ta have known Conner and Tim were on their way. Ya took a serious chance by leaving, Rae." He pulled her close again. "Seeing ya with a rifle aimed at ya, not knowing if I could get to you in time, that tends ta shake a man up some."

"I know, I know." Nothing, _nothing _ever felt quite as solid and steady as this man to her. "And I wasn't supposed to leave the Museum with Crane. I was supposed ta keep him there while Conner and Tim took out his goons and ensured he didn't have any sorta contingency plan in place."

"But?"

"He threatened you. The only thing I saw, that I knew, was he was planning to use his vile poison to kill you. And goddamn it," she rasped. "I wasn't going to let him have _you_."

"He almost killed _you, _you daft woman."

"It wasn't Crane behind the bandaged shooter." She lifted her head to look at him and in the depths of her jade eyes he saw rage and hate swirling like a tornado. "It was my father."

"Berkeley?" Surprise tinged his growl. "Ya sure?"

She nodded. "Can you think of anybody else who'd go over Crane's head and order me killed?"

He could think of a few super villains, but none who had the same personal vendetta against her which Matthew Berkeley did. _Even Joker doesn't want her dead as badly as Berkeley. _He heaved a sigh. "You kept saying you thought it was your father who was financing Crane's operation. You said you suspected his hand in orchestrating the entire affair. All of us said you were just being paranoid," he said, grimacing. "Owe ya an apology for that, Rae."

She smoothed her hands up and down his back. "I was _hoping _I was just being paranoid."

"Pretty clear they are partners."

She made a low, rumbling sound in her throat which was part speculation and part concern. "I have a feeling their partnership won't be lasting much longer after what my father tried tonight."

One dark eyebrow lifted. He did not, however, doubt what she was saying. He'd learned a long time ago never to doubt her when she sensed something was about to occur. The woman had a ridiculous habit of being right whenever she sensed something either good or bad was about to happen.

"What is it you are specifically thinking might be about to go down here, Rae?"

"I'm thinking Crane is about to remind my father about who exactly is in charge of their little operation."

"And that's bad why, exactly?" he intoned in a lazy drawl.

She harrumphed. "It's bad because it very well will have my father retaliate in order to teach Crane about what happens to those who cross him."

"Which means Crane will retaliate against him..." Dick began on a groan.

"...and my father will again retaliate against him because it is a never ending cycle where only the people of Gotham are who are made to pay the ultimate price," Raya finished for him with a nod.

"We need to go and tell the others about what you're thinking is going to go down. Especially since it is obvious Crane has synthesized an even more terrible version of his damned Fear toxin."

"Yeah, he has. A new toxin which I fear is his own synthesizing of _Inceptive_."

He heaved a sigh. Why couldn't life ever be easy? He wondered for what felt like the billionth time. Why couldn't the criminals be normal one's? "C'mon, let's go."

Raya made a face. "I'm really not looking forward to the lectures we're about to get from our father's."

"Aw, Commissioner Gordon's lecture won't be so bad..."

She gave him a dirty look. "Bruce's lecture is gonna be murder and you know it," she said. "And don't be thinking he won't be busting _your _tail feathers, bird boy. You fluttered down into the path of danger."

He grinned. "I was rescuing the damsel in distress."

She circled his neck with her arms and leaned up to place a soft kiss to his lips. "You did save the damsel in distress."

"Yanno," he said in a sing-song voice. "I'm feeling a bit unsettled again."

She harrumphed. "I'll settle your fragile and delicate little nerves," she said lightly. "_After_ our fathers finish roasting our hides over the parental pyre."

"Oh, fine," he groused. Then he grinned. "But ya better have more than some granny kiss in mind."

She rolled her eyes. "Just swing us outta here, buzzard brains."

"All right," he huffed. "Demanding little minx."

"Yup," was all she said.

* * *

When the dust finally settled, the thugs were all rounded up and loaded into the waiting police vans. Then and only then was Timothy Drake able to let out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Pain, raw and edged with anger surged through him, nearly choked him. The dread that he had fought from the moment he'd seen Raya in the path of danger settled in his chest, harsh and heavy. He felt as if he was standing at the bottom of a deep dark well and water was rushing in and surrounding him, fast.

Time, in his opinion, was the nastiest son of a bitch in the world. Even with Raya and Dick safe the clock continued ticking. Tim suspected it would continue to tick until Crane was caught and thrown back into Arkham. He knew it was only a matter of _when, _and not _if,_ the doctor would strike again. Part of him wanted to hunt the doctor down and feed his new toxin to him. The other part of him, the one which was still ruled by Batman's edicts, half-heartedly suggested calm. Something must have shown upon his face because Conner set a gentle hand upon his shoulder.

"Tim," he said quietly. "What is it, buddy?"

His stomach was a roiling mass of acidic corruption, and his throat was tight with the tension burrowing through his body like worms. However he said, "Nothing's wrong, Con."

It was softly said and hinted at none of the turmoil Conner could tell was tumbling around inside his friend at that moment. "Man, we both know that that's bull." His squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. "Now c'mon and tell me what's wrong."

Tim turned his head to look at the two figures slowly coming towards them. "We coulda lost them tonight, Conner," he finally said in a broken whisper. "They coulda been gunned down by that rifle toting son of a bitch. And there was not a damned thing we coulda done to have saved them."

Conner turned to see Raya and Dick, both a little pale and shaky still, but _alive nonetheless, _come walking towards them. He felt an insane urge to yank the two superheroes up into his arms and clutch them both until the fear and anger and grief passed. Then, once he was settled, he'd beat the snot out of Dick (there was no way he'd raise a hand against Raya) for the two of them having scared him (and everybody else) shitless. He knew he couldn't grab hold of his friend's though. It would compromise their identities if he did. So he settled upon giving the older man a look that said in no uncertain terms that they'd be hashing things out Mano y Mano once they were somewhere private. He could tell by the slight curve of Dick's mouth he understood, and was looking forward to it.

The same, however, could not be said for Tim. Oh no. Tim fixed Raya with a glare; one long and scorching stare that told the petite woman about how unsettled her Red was. Rabid emotions were surging in that sea blue gaze. Fury, pain, fear, sorrow, all so intense, all so overwhelming she thought she'd be drowned beneath the sheer weight of them.

Well, if he thought he was going to bust her tail feathers for leaving the Museum with Crane when Dick's life was the one in jeopardy, well, Timothy Drake just had better get over his temper tantrum right quick she decided with a slight toss of her head. When it came to Richard Grayson, there was no risk too great, and no price to high. She'd do whatever she had to in order to keep him safe and that was all there was to it. She returned his glare with a look that told him as much.

Yet it wasn't her unfailing loyalty to Dick (hell, he was used to that) which was bothering Tim. No, it wasn't that at all. It was that time was now trying to take her away from _him_. He'd lived with a sleeping lion inside him ever since he'd lost his mother, father, step-mother and nearly Bruce to the hands of death. A lion which began to roar the instant it became clear Raya's, and Dick's lives were in serious peril. He couldn't help the irrationality of his fear. Not anymore than he could halt the maelstrom of other emotions which were eating away at him. For a moment, Tim understood the ball of churning rage and grief inside his adoptive father. He glanced over at Bruce, tried to read his thoughts but found them sealed away behind an impassive mask. _Like always. _Not wanting to stay there a moment longer, Tim reached for his grapnel gun before saying,

"I'm outta here."

And then he fired the gun and was gone.

"I'll go and talk to him..." Conner said but Dick set a hand upon his arm to detain him.

"It's not his best friend he needs right now, Con."

Conner frowned his confusion. "Who is it you think he needs then?" He saw Dick shift his head to the side and followed the line of his gaze to where Raya was standing with her back to them.

"I'm gonna need to stop at a grocery store or mini-mart on the way home," she said without turning. "We're outta Skittles."

"What in the hell do you need Skittles for?" Conner demanded. "How the hell do _Skittles _factor into making my best bud feel better?"

Raya glanced over her shoulder at the simmering kryptonian superhero. "Skittles? And vanilla ice cream?" she asked. When continued to glare at her, she hazarded a guess by asking; "He's never told you about the significance of Skittles and vanilla icea?"

A glint of frustrated anger turned Conner's normally boyish face to stone. "No."

"It's their tradition, Con," Dick told him quietly. "They hash out problems while snacking on bowls of vanilla ice cream and handfuls of Skittles."

"Tim needs Skittles," Raya said with a nod. "Skittles and vanilla ice cream." _And me_, she added silently.

"What Drake needs..." Damian snarked. "Is a swift kick to the..."

"Shaddup, Damian," Raya said sweetly. Too sweetly. Damian recognized that there was just enough of a bite in her undertone to convey she was dead serious. Damian just heaved a long, disgruntled sigh in response.

* * *

In a small alcove between the Society of Gotham Pioneers and the Sisters of Gotham building, two men, both of them father's and each civil servants in their own fashions, stood watching as burlap masked goons were loaded into waiting police vans. Twin sets of world-weary blue eyes then shifted to rest upon the oldest two of the five figures standing in conversation by the visitor's booth. Each man knew what the other was thinking; what they were feeling in that moment. They'd both come close to losing a child that night to a madman wielding a fully loaded assault rifle. _Two children, _Gordon corrected silently. _In his case he nearly lost two children tonight. She's as much his as she is mine._

Gordon knew it was a long supposed belief about how he knew who the man was beneath the infamous cape and cowl but wasn't sharing. It was a game they'd been playing for years. Gordon did know who the man beneath that fearsome mask was. Just as he knew the man standing beside him was aware he knew of his identity, and didn't care about the fact that he knew. In the end, the difference between knowing and not knowing was wrapped up in the importance of the fact. For Gordon, Batman was a necessity his city needed in order for it to survive the onslaught of criminals like the Joker, Jonathan Crane and Matthew Berkeley. If pretending to be unaware of who Batman was what was required for him to protect his city and her people? Well, he'd feign ignorance then was Gordon's end thought.

Watching as Nightwing rest a familiar hand upon the lower back of Raya had Gordon realizing how _he'd _nearly lost two kids himself. It was a really surprising discovery for the veteran detective to make. While the darkly handsome young superhero was not his son, he was someone Gordon felt a deep affection and respect for. _I watched the kid grow up, _Gordon thought as he reached up to adjust his glasses. _I've seen him mature into a fine and upstanding man. The sort any father would be proud to call son, in fact. _

He nearly had been given the chance to call him son he realized before turning towards the silent man at his side. Gordon had a feeling, especially after how he'd just witnessed the extreme (and suicidal) lengths the young man was willing to go too in order to save Raya that he might still end up with the crime fighter as an in-law. He wasn't so old he couldn't see sparks flying between the two friends.

"I owe your boy..." Gordon began but Batman halted the rest of what he was going to say by holding up a hand.

"She's his as much as she is ours, Jim." A grimace flashed upon his stoic face. "As much as I hate it, there is no length those two won't go in order to protect the other."

Gordon gave a nod of his head. He knew that for himself. "Only reason she woulda left the damned Museum in the first place was if Crane threatened him."

"I'll be grounding her and Nightwing after what happened tonight," Batman said in a hard voice. "She can work remotely from the cave."

Gordon popped a Rolaid to slow down the acid ingestion and heartburn roiling like a forest fire through his chest and gut. "Do you think either of them realizes how much of an emotional hell they've put us through?"

That dark figure shifted and his cape rustled, reminding Gordon of a bird ruffling its feathers. "They'll know after I'm through with them."

Gordon merely grunted a response. Leaving the yelling and subsequent grounding of their wayward (and recklessly independent at times) children to Batman was more than fine with him. "I don't think your boy is going to appreciate being grounded," he said. "Our girl won't either for that matter."

"They'll just have to get used to it. Until Berkeley, Crane and whomever that bandaged shooter is are brought to justice they are in protective custody."

_My custody,_ Bruce thought. He knew he was being just a bit irrational. He knew they'd accuse him of being overprotective. They were right on both scores, and he frankly didn't care about how annoyed it made either of them. They weren't the ones who'd been forced to stand, helpless, as a madman nearly took their lives away as his parent's lives had been taken away. Raw, powerful emotions pumped into his system like a fast-acting drug. He was edgy, his nerve endings scrapped raw. He could feel… too much, and was waiting for his system to simply implode. He let out a ragged breath.

"Berkeley knows those two are tied at the hip," he said in a low rasp. "And he knows the best way to hurt us, as well as them is by threatening one or the other."

"She's on official leave until this Crane business is taken care of."

"Well, I guess I know what my official job punishment is..." Raya said in a dry tone as she walked up to where the two men were standing. She glanced from her uncle over to the simmering shadow next to him. "Safe to assume my other punishment is indefinite suspension of my Fenix privileges and subsequent cave-arrest?"

Two sets of blue eyes-one pair the color of a summer sky while the other were nearly like the purest of sapphires shifted, pinned her.

"Do you have any idea about the emotional hell you put us through, young lady?" Gordon demanded. "An indefinite suspension from both your jobs is a small price to pay for the near heart attacks you and that boy nearly gave us."

"I know, I know," Raya replied in a soft voice. "And I'm sorry for scaring the two of you. I freely admit I shoulda listened when you both said stay away from the Museum."

"Why didn't you?"

It wasn't a growl. Well, it wasn't a growl _exactly, _she realized with a pang. She glanced at Bruce, ached with her need to reach out and touch him, to soothe away the emotional turmoil she knew was broiling within him. She couldn't do that though, not without compromising his identity. So she settled for saying,

"I'm sorry." Crow, she found, tasted awful. "I'm sorry I didn't listen when you said don't attend the masquerade. And I'm sorry I didn't do as you instructed and go straight home after work." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in order to keep from reaching out and touching him. "In my defense, I knew getting Crane off the streets was imperative. Attending tonight seemed like the best way to trap him and get him back into a cell."

"You should have left Crane to me."

"I know I should have," she spoke gently now. "And I am sorry I didn't leave him to you. But nearly being gunned down wasn't Crane's doing, nor was it part of his plan."

"No, it was your damned father's!" Gordon rasped. "How the man managed to get out of Blackgate, I do not know. You can trust though that I will be launching a full investigation into the situation"

Raya rest a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "I'm assuming the bandaged man helped him with his escape."

"As do I," Batman said. "We can discuss this later." To Raya he said, "It's time to go home."

She made a face. "I need to go and find Red Ro..."

He cut her off with a firm, "No."

"But..."

"No."

That _no_ was growled not only by Bruce, but by her uncle as well. Raya gave up, gave in with a frustrated sigh. "All right. Fine. I'll go home."

"You'll be escorted home by Batman or Robin," Gordon said firmly. "And you'll damn sure stay there until your father and Crane are put back in their cells."

Raya made a face. "I hate when you daddy team."

"Tough," Gordon replied. He placed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Now go on and get out of here. The media is swarming in and I don't need to contend with them, the guests from the Ball, you, Batman and the rest of Crane's gang all at the same time."

"Okay."

Without another word, Raya allowed Bruce to lead her out of the alley and over to where he'd remotely parked the Batmobile. Silently, she swore to brain Dick for leaving her to face their lecture while he, Robin and Conner tried to track down Crane.

_See if I settle your nerves now, bird boy_, she huffed as she climbed into the black automobile.


End file.
